


The Dark Side of the Moon

by lil_hanman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst/Hurt, Concerned Derek, Dark Stiles, Domestic Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Jerk Scott, M/M, PTSD, Pain, Post-Nogitsune, Protective Derek, Self Harm, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Switch!Derek, Werefox Stiles, dom!stiles, drug usage, self medication, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 35,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11152362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_hanman/pseuds/lil_hanman
Summary: After the events of the Nogitsune and Allison's death, Stiles is plunged into a world of darkness and pain. He self medicates with drugs and inflicts pain upon himself he believes he deserves. With Scott looking the other way, will Derek be there for Stiles before it's too late? Will Stiles ever forgive Derek for saving his life when all he wanted was the sweet release of death?





	1. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waddup ma dudes! Thank you so much for checking out my work. This is purely for entertainment purposes, so I apologize for any and all errors, though I work so they are rare to few. Please, leave comments below! They really help me out with future works as well as help me to improve this current project. All I ask for is your time and words, whether positive or otherwise! Again, thank you so much for your support!

It’s been three months since Allison’s death. Three months since the Nogitsune was killed and Stiles was torn free from his mental prison. And yet, a dark cloud consisting only of pain of melancholy had settled upon the pack of Beacon Hills.

After her death, Derek had established mandatory pack meetings at his loft in an effort to reconnect the pack. He would never admit it, but it was for himself as well as it was for the benefit of the kids. He had even gone as far as to purchase a pool table at the expense of his own brooding reputation. Scott thought that he had lost his mind, and realistically, after everything that had happened, he probably had. But it wasn't himself that Derek was worried about, but Stiles Stilinski, of all people.  


Stiles had been plunged into a world of pain beyond the understanding of even Derek. The Nogitsune had used his mind and body to destroy everything that the kid held dearest. Stiles insists that he doesn’t remember anything, that he never saw the things that the Nogitsune had done while ruling his mind, but Derek knew better. Derek saw the way the he held himself, how he rarely talked and was quick to anger. He saw the fear that flickered through his eyes at the mention of Allison’s name, or the overwhelming sour smell of self hatred when Scott was dragged down into his rant of mourning. He could even taste the chalky smell that would made him gag every time Stiles disappeared to take his ‘medicine’. He claims it’s a new ADHD prescription, but Derek could see the way it slowed the kids movements, the way he would disappear from the conversation and struggle to walk in a straight line. But he could not blame him, because really, the boy needs an escape from the hell hole his life had become.

But what angered Derek the most was not Stiles’ evident coping mechanisms, but Scott’s inability to see that his friend, his brother, was still suffering. He was so self involved that he’d missed when Stiles practically ran from the room at his outburst during one of the meetings. Stiles had seen enough werewolf breakdowns to last a lifetime, becoming numb to the razor sharp claws and burning eyes, but when Scott had roared at Derek, claiming that he “didn’t understand” his pain and that the loss of his mate had torn him apart, Stiles almost lost his methodical composure. When he returned, his had a small tremor in his hands but he slid into his seat and Derek shook his head when he caught a whiff of the all too familiar drug radiating from his pores. 

Today is no different. Scott, Liam, Stiles, and Isaac all swarmed around the pool table, sticks in hand as they laughed and occasionally growled in frustration. Isaac and Stiles were on a team while Scott and Liam worked together, winning easily. Isaac was obviously irritated by Stiles’ inability to get a single ball into the hole, missing it all together on occasion. Stiles would laugh and wave him off, stumbling slightly as he lined up for his next shot. It was the winning shot and Isaac had begged to take it, but it was Stiles’ turn and he was too high to think with any level of his usual strategy or logic. After a few failed attempts, he finally tapped the eight ball, barely moving it more than an inch. Isaac finally erupted in anger and frustration, turning on Stiles and roaring in his face while Liam smirked at their win. Instantly, a switch had been flipped in his head and Stiles snapped out of his high, at his own expense.

Stiles’ eyes darkened, his stance becoming stiff and hostile. Derek sensed the quick change of the atmosphere and jumped from his initial sedentary position on the couch. He turned just in time to see Isaac thrown into the wall, Stiles’ hand wrapped around his neck. Although Isaac was stronger than him, Stiles had his thumb pressed dangerously into his windpipe, leaving no room for oxygen to fill the werewolf’s lungs. Isaac shifted quickly, clawing desperately at his wrist and snapping usuccessfully at Stiles, but he didn't even flinch. Blood and torn flesh pooled down his arm, staining the floor. Derek could practically feel the anger radiating from Stiles, sending enough adrenaline to kill an elephant through the human’s system and he knew that the moment that began to wear off Stiles would be in immense pain.  
Scott ran over and pulled Stiles off of Isaac, sending him to the floor, unconscious. Stiles stared down at the teen, a wicked scowel painted on his face as Scott desperately put pressure onto his arm, which was now shredded into a bloody mess. Derek marched over, grabbing Scott by his shirt and jerking him away. He then, in an attempt to snap Stiles out of whatever anger seemed to be overwhelming him, slammed the kid into the wall as he had done to Isaac. Derek grabbed his hair and held his head against the wood, snarling his fangs and glowing his eyes a piercing blue.

A feeling of unease settled through the room the moment tears filled Stiles’ eyes. He tried to hide the fluid that slid down his cheek and mask his scent of sorrow by punching Derek in the nose, letting out a strangled cry. Without flinching, Derek took a step back and watched as Stiles slid down to the floor, his head in his hands. Scott took a step forward in an attempt to comfort his friend, but Derek shot him a glare that could kill the highest of Alphas and waited for Scott to slink away before crouching down next to Stiles, leaning his leather clad shoulder against the wall.

He rested his hand on his shoulder and was surprised when Stiles finally choked, “I’m ready to go home now.” He pushed Derek’s hand away and stared down at his clotted arm for a moment before turning towards the door. “Thanks for the game. It was fun,” he called, not even turning to look at them before slamming the door to the loft shut.

Derek stood, frozen, until he could hear the familiar roar of his Jeep and the crunching of asphalt against the tires disappear towards his home. “Derek, I-” Scott started but Derek cut him off.

“Get out,” he grunted, jerking off his jacket from his shoulders and tossing it onto the couch.

“But-” Liam squeaked. Derek turned on him in a second, eyes flaring and roared.

“I said, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Derek reached out and grabbed Liam by his neck and threw him in the direction of the door, sending the beta into a bumbling mess as he stumbled out of the loft. Scott just stared, dumbfounded. After a moment of silence, he just slowly shook his head and dropped down to help Isaac up from the ground. He sent Derek a curt nod and left with the beta in hand.

Silence fell across the room like a scratchy blanket, necessary but uncomfortable. Derek wandered into his kitchen and pulled an already opened beer from the fridge. He put the cold glass to his lips and forced the mild alcohol down his throat, knowing that it would do nothing. He knew he couldn't get drunk, that alcohol would never numb his being the way it did others, but he still tried. He prayed that one day he would wake up with a pounding migraine and would vomit his health away. It was in vain, and he knew it.

Derek watched as the sun fell below the tree line, feeling the pull of the impending full moon. He knew the moon wouldn't reach its fullest until Friday night, and that was three days away, but after being a werewolf for a lifetime, he could feel its power days in advance. As a calming haze filled the loft, sending shadows dancing up the walls, Derek’s mind was pulled back to Stiles as it often was in the quietest of hours.

The kid was falling apart, that he knew. But what Derek did not understand, what made his skin crawl and his head hurt, was why Stiles, of all people, let himself fall into such an abys. Stiles was smart and cunning. Though he filled his stomach with curly fries and sodas, he cared about his body, his life. He knew what was good, what was bad. He lived a life of black and white, good wolf and bad wolf. Yet, he had crumbled into a pile of teen angst and despair in a matter of seconds. But then Derek began to consider, what if Stiles did not know what was good and what was bad? What if he wasn’t as perfect and head strong and he lead others to believe? What if this breakdown was impending but Stiles had done so well at hiding it that nobody noticed? But then, what if he wasn't hiding it? What if it was right in front of Derek’s nose this whole time but he’d been so self centered that he couldn't have seen it if it had slapped him in the face?

A growl erupted from Derek and he sent his fist into the table, pulling it away bloody and torn. He watched for a moment as the skin mended and scowled. As irritation and anger began to bubble up, threatening to explode, Derek threw his bottle into the sink, glass spraying up and onto the floor. What if what Stiles had needed was just somebody to be there for him, to care? In a fit of heated fury, he sent his fists into the wall, feeling the crushing of bone and bruising of nerves. Ignoring the pain, knowing he deserved nothing less for what he had done to the boy, he threw his fists into the wall again. And again. And Again. They rained down until his limbs were screaming and his body fell limp as the adrenaline faded. Sinking down to the floor, he put his head in his hands and for the first time in decades, Derek Hale cried.


	2. Stiles

Stiles pulled the keys from the ignition, feeling an inkling of relief at the familiar sound of the metal clinking together. After Allison’s death, nothing felt familiar. Nothing was the same and he knew it. Scott wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even look at him, but when he did, Stiles wished he wouldn't. Every time Scott looked at Stiles, he could see the pain and pity that filled his gaze. He knew that all Scott could see was the face of a killer, the face of the man who had slaughtered his mate.

The recurring thought of Allison, of the Nogitsune, of everything that he had done, sent Stiles spiraling out of control. He could feel his hands shaking, the familiar numbing of his feet and his labored breaths. His vision swirled as tears filled his eyes and he slammed his palms into the steering wheel, trying to will away to impending panic attack. He forced breaths in through his nose, focusing on the rapid beating of his heart and bit his tongue until he could taste blood.

Suddenly, his door was thrown open and strong, familiar arms wrapped around Stiles. He was dragged out of the car and slowly lowered to the pavement, calloused hands rubbing up and down his arms. His breathing picked up and he began to feel light headed, knowing he was going to pass out if he didn't get control of himself.   
That’s how it always was, control. Stiles’ whole life had become one of fighting for control. Fighting for control of his mind, of his body, even his friends. He could feel his grip of reality loosening as his limbs began to tingle, his body being lifted from the ground and dragged into the house. He was thrown onto the couch, a quilt draped over his shoulders, and finally allowed himself to be thrown into unconsciousness. 

Before the darkness enveloped Stiles’ consciousness, he heard the gruff voice of his father, “You’re okay, Stiles. You’re okay.”


	3. Derek

Derek woke up on the floor of the loft. The first thing he noticed were the holes that littered his wall and the glass that spewed across the floor. As the memory of his breakdown came back to him, he shook his head and slowly pried himself up from the floor. Groaning, Derek swept the glass into a corner, telling himself he'd clean it up later, and shuffled into the main of the loft. He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned, stretching his jaw. He looked up at the night sky, watching the stars and wondering if his mother could see him now, covered in blood and leaving glass on his floor. She’d be shaking her head, that he knew.

He looked down at his watch and read 2:30 in the morning. He made a clicking noise with his tongue and flicked the lights out to the loft before making his way into the only bedroom and pulling off his gray t-shirt. He tossed it to the floor and crawled onto the bed, not even bothering to slide under the covers. Derek let his eyes fall closed, and took a deep breath as his head fell onto the cool pillow. Instantly, he felt himself being plunged into a dream he would never forget. 

***

_Derek stood in the midst of a forest, leaves falling around him in a flurry of reds and oranges. The trees swayed as a warm breeze blew through the branches, the rustling of the leaves familiar and calming. He spun in a circle, trying desperately to see where he was, but the leaves had created a wall that blocked his line of sight. He could feel ghostly fingers tugging at his hair, his clothing, and he growled in frustration. Suddenly, the wall opened, but only for a moment._

_He saw him. He saw Stiles, standing on the other side of the wall and a sudden feeling of longing tugged at his chest. Derek ran through the wall of leaves, scratches littering his skin. Instantly, the wind stopped and a silence fell through the forest, but Stiles was gone. He felt his heart drop to his toes and he spun around, praying to see the kid, but he was nowhere to be seen. But then a soft breeze floated through the trees, gliding over Derek’s head and wrapping itself around his arms. A voice, unmistakably Stiles, echoed through his ears._

_“Derek, I need your help,” it whispered, quiet but desperate. Derek jerked his head to the side, baring his fangs in irritation._

_“Then let me help you! Where are you, Stiles?” Derek called, not daring to move in fear Stiles would disappear._

_“Please, Derek. I’m dying and I need your help,” Stiles cried, the soft breeze becoming violent. The leaves picked up off the ground and cut at Derek’s arms and neck._

_“Stiles! Why? What’s happening? Stiles, come back!” Derek roared, feeling himself shift. He began to slash at the leaves, knocking them from the air._

_Then a bell sounded. The deep, heavy “dong” of the bell sent the leaves to the forest floor and the trees faded away, leaving only a giant stump. The Nematon._   
_Stiles sat with his legs crossed, on the supernatural stump. His hands rested on his knees, the soft breeze ruffling his hair and his golden eyes stared into Derek’s, piercing his soul._

_“Derek, please, help me,” he said softly, turning his hands so his palms faced the sky. Gashes littered his arms, blood bubbling to the surface and spilling into the wood of the Nematon. With every drop, vines burst through the tree and wrapped around his wrists, pinning them to the stump._

_“Stiles! What the hell,” Derek roared, running to him, but he tripped on a root. He plummeted to the earth, his body slamming into the grass. He tried to push himself back up, but thick tendrils wrapped around his ankles, keeping him anchored. Bending his knees, Derek pushed himself up enough so that he could reach out and dig his claws into the stump. He stretched out his arms desperately, trying to cut the vines so he could free Stiles’ arms. He wanted to save Stiles, needed to save Stiles._

_“You’re too late, Derek,” Stiles croaked, filled with pain. To Derek’s horror, a thick, spiked branch sliced through Stiles’ chest, sending streams of blood raining down onto Derek and the forest floor._

_And unearthly noise erupted from Derek’s throat. His whole body shook with despair and he tore his feet from the earth, clambering onto the stump. He knelt down beside Stiles’ lifeless body and jerked the branch from his chest, tossing the wood to the leaves. Tears fell without any signs of stopping, spilling into the pool of blood._

_“Stiles,” Derek choked, cradling the boy’s body. Blood stained his clothes and he pulled desperately at his hair. “I’m so sorry.”_

***

Derek shot up, his claws tearing into the bedding as a roar erupted from his mouth. His neck was soaked with sweat and the last thing Derek remembered before jolting awake was the glowing blue eyes looking up at him from the boy he had learned to love.

 


	4. Stiles

Sitting on his bed, Stiles looked down at what his evening had become. In one hand, Stiles held a small plastic bag filled with little white pills. In the other hand, he held a freshly sanitized blade that brought him the pain he knew he deserved. Stiles looked up at his door, double checking to see that it was locked. Content, he opened the baggie, dropping a single pill onto his bed. He picked it up and popped it into his mouth, swallowing dry. He cringed at the powder stuck in his throat, but he felt giddy at the impending high he knew he’d feel. His dad was at work and he knew he wouldn't be disturbed, since everyone else seemed to be working through their own issues. 

Stiles leaned back, his head resting on the pillows, and stared up at his ceiling. He held the blade between his fingers, spinning his casually. He could feel his mind beginning to cloud over, his limbs heavy and he couldn't help but smile at himself. This was so much better than adderall. But he knew it was too good. Stiles knew he didn't deserve such bliss, such contempt. 

Lifting his wrist so it was eye level, Stiles scanned up and down his forearm. The one holding the blade was wrapped in gauze, evidence of his earlier breakdown. He was ashamed of himself, to have snapped in front of his pack. To have let Derek and even Scott see that he wasn't okay. But he was okay. Stiles as okay.

Without wasting another second, Stiles slashed the blade across his wrist. He watched the blood trickle down his forearm, gliding over the pre-existing scars that littered the skin. There were only four, maybe five, but it was enough. With every pill, a cut followed to remind him that he did not deserve complete happiness. 

Stiles contemplated death. He really did. There were several moments when he would think, maybe today is the day. Maybe he will finally cut too deep. Maybe he will send the blade straight down from the wrist to the crook of his arm, slicing the artery and bleeding out onto the bed. But then he’d think of his father. Stiles would think of what he would think when he found his only son dead and covered in his own blood. Who would be there to hide the bottles of alcohol? To make sure he ate dinner after a late shift? To steal his curly fries and solve his cases for him? 

Setting the blade and bag of drugs to the side, Stiles climbed under the covers and closed his eyes, letting sleep wash over him once again.


	5. Derek

One day before the full moon. It was Liam’s first full moon since becoming a werewolf so Derek had to make preparations. He considered forcing Scott to take care of it, seeing as Liam was _his_ beta, but Derek could use the distraction.

He pulled the chains from his cabinet and hooked one end to the metal rings that he had drilled into the floor. He then hooked the other end to a pair of wolfsbane laced cuffs. He had explained to an unconvinced Scott that “the wolfsbane would keep the wolf from tearing them from the chain”. 

When he had the last cuff hooked to the chain, he heard the familiar roar of Scott’s motorcycle. Before the kid could even reach the door, Derek pulled it open. Scott walked in, offering a curt nod to Derek and Liam followed, his heart hammering. Derek could see that the moon was already effecting him. He was on edge, jumping at every sudden noise. He was a ticking time bomb and Derek knew it. 

“Hey, have you heard from Stiles?” Scott asked, squatting down by the chains and checking their hold. Derek stiffened at the mention of Stiles, his dream flashing behind his eyes.

“No,” he replied simply. He reached for another beer and popped off the cap.

“Weird. I was riding by his house this morning and I could hear a lot of yelling. I heard your name mentioned a couple times. I think him and his dad were fighting again,” Scott said. He stood up from the chains and crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side as he watched Derek take another swig from his bottle.

Derek wasn’t the only one to notice that Stiles’ had a short fuse, his father being the brunt of this. They had gotten into a number of heated feuds the past few weeks.

“No, I haven’t heard from Stiles,” Derek repeated, setting the bottle onto the table. Scott and Liam didn’t mention the damage to the table and wall.

“I think you should go check on him,” Liam said, taking Derek’s beer. Before he could put it to his lips, Scott grabbed it from his hands and handed it back to Derek.

“Why?” Derek mumbled, putting the bottle into the opened fridge.

“Um, I don't know,” Liam stumbled. He looked between Scott and Derek and finally said, “I think he would appreciate your company more than ours.”

Shaking his head, Derek finally sighed, “Fine. I’ll go check on him. Scott, the full moon will be happening in thirty-six hours. Please, don’t piss off the beta.” With that, Derek threw on his leather jacket over his black shirt and grabbed his keys. Though he seemed annoyed, deep down, Derek knew that Stiles needed his help.


	6. Stiles

Stiles hated his father. The man had come stumbling into the house, drunk out of his mind, at nine o’clock in the morning. He had not spent the night working, but getting wasted at a bar. He was so drunk he had to call a patrol officer to drive him home. And he had the balls to tell Stiles that it was his fault. But then again, he was right.

When Sheriff Stilinski walked into the house and proceeded to berate Stiles with words brimming with hatred and truth, Stiles did the only thing he could do. He kicked the man out of the house. He told him to drive his “drunk ass out of Beacon Hills” and to never come back. Stiles Stilinski told his father that he hoped he died and to never show his face again.

That was thirty minutes ago. Now Stiles stared numbly at the empty bag of drugs. They were gone. He couldn’t escape and man did he need it now. He was too angry to care, though. The anger had numbed him to the core. Letting the bag float to the carpet, he stood up from his bed and marched across the hall and into the bathroom. He then closed the door and locked it.

Stiles tore open his cabinet and grabbed the soggy cardboard box that was filled with replaceable razors. A normal man would use those razors to shave his face in an act of showing the world that he was strong and worth something. But not Stiles. He used those blades to mutilate his skin, not soften it. And today was a very important day.

Stiles knew what he was going to do, deep down in the back of his mind, he knew. He told himself it would be just one cut, an addition to his collection. But he knew it would be so much more.

He opened the box and spilled a single razor out onto the porceline countertop. The small clink of metal upon the surface was an odd contrast to the silence that had filled the house. Stiles could see in his mind’s eyes the vomit that soured the clean tile by the front door, his father’s token of remembrance. Then he had an idea, a terrible, horrible idea.

Stiles turned the nozzle to the water spout that began to fill the bathtub. Rushing water roared into the tub and Stiles peeled his shirt off over his sticky skin. He pulled down his pants but then decided to leave his underwear on. He knew how the police worked, that they would inevitably find him and even in death, Stiles Stilinski will not be found dead _and_  naked.

When the tub was filled to the brim with steaming water, he slowly sunk into the liquid. His nerves jumped to life at the scalding temperature, his skin turning pink. Stiles rested his head against the cool tile and closed his eyes, feeling the water sloshing across his chin. This was clean, it was peaceful, and it was quiet. It was how he’d always wanted it to be. No battles, no fighting for control. Finally, Stiles was in control. And with that thought, he plunged the blade deep into his wrist.

Pain shot through his body and Stiles couldn't help but cry out. His throat closed and tears spilled from his eyes. He gnashed his teeth together and seethed and he dragged the razor through his skin. Blood did more than bubble up, like he had grown so used too. It poured out faster than he had expected, filling the clear water and turning it a dark red. He should feel at peace, content, but he wasn't.

Stiles was terrified. He was in so much pain and the blood that poured from his body made him feel nauseous. Then he began to think about Scott, about Derek and the pack. And suddenly, he didn't want to die. He wanted to live, for them. Who was going to save their asses every time they run into a fight without a clear strategy? But then, he thought of Allison. About the Nogitsune. About Aiden.

Stiles Stilinski did not deserve to die. He did not deserve to escape such a world of pain and darkness. He had killed enough people to last a life time, including Scott’s mate, his love. Stiles deserved the hell hole that was his life.

He tried to stop the bleeding, he did, but it was too late. His body felt weak. He threw his arms over the side of the tub, trying to pull himself out of the water so that he could call the ambulance, call Melissa, even Derek. He needed somebody to save him. But just like always, there was nobody there to save skinny, defenseless Stiles.


	7. Derek

Derek pulled into Stiles’ drive way, the Sheriff’s patrol car gone. He walked up to the front door and knocked. There was dead silence coming from the house, which was strange. Derek could always hear movement, whether it was the Sheriff flipping through the newspaper or the television that seemed to always be on. Closing his eyes, Derek flared his nose slightly and took a deep breath.

Snapping his eyes open, Derek burst through the front door. The smell of vomit and blood filled his nose. It was almost blinding. Derek scanned the room and nearly gagged at the puddle of vomit on the floor. Suddenly, he heard the sloshing of water coming from upstairs.

“Stiles!” Derek roared, running up the stairs. He opened the door to his bedroom and felt his stomach flip when he saw the empty bag that he knew held Stiles’ fix. Turning, he ran to the bathroom where he could smell not only Stiles, but blood and way too much of it. 

Derek tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. Growling in irritation, he slammed his body into the frame. When the door gave, Derek stumbled into the small bathroom and nearly passed out.

Stiles partially hung out of the bathtub, blood making the floor slick and crimson. A small razor floated in the water and Derek listened desperately for a heartbeat.  


He ran to the tub and dragged Stiles out, laying him out onto his lap as he scanned his chest, praying for any kind of movement. Derek, after holding his breath for what felt like hours, finally heart a single, soft heart beat. He forced the air out of his lunges and desperately patted Stiles’ cheeks, pulling open his eyes and checking for any sign of life.

“Stiles? Stiles, I need you to wake up. Can you do that for me? Please, Stiles. Stiles!” Derek cried, shaking his head. His body was limp, the only sign of life the weak heartbeat but Derek knew that would stop soon. He tried to stop the bleeding but it was too late for that. Derek couldn't be proactive so he needed to be reactive.  
There was only one way that Derek could save Stiles’ life and that was to give him the bite. He knew Stiles did not want the bite, but he really had no choice in the matter. Derek would deal with the consequences, but right now, he needed to save Stiles’ life.

Reaching down, Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm and sunk his teeth into the already bloody, mutilated skin. He held his jaws there for a moment, hoping that maybe Stiles would wake up immediately, but he knew better. Releasing the arm, Derek wiped the blood from his face.

Derek lifted Stiles’ body off the ground and proceeded to carry him to his car. He laid him out over the back seat and jumped into the front, racing back to the loft. He continued to look back, hoping that he could see the arm heal and hear a heart beat, but he saw nothing, heard nothing.

Pulling into his parking place, Derek rushed out of the car and lifted Stiles into his arms, carrying him bridal style up to his loft. Before he had even reached the door, Scott threw it open and stared wide eyed at Stiles’ bloodied body in Derek’s arms.

“Derek, what the hell,” Liam startled, popping up behind Scott. Without saying a word, Derek marched into his room and lay Stiles out onto the mattress. Turning to Scott and Liam, he pushed them out of the room and followed them into the hall, closing the door.

“Derek-” Scott started but Derek cut him off.

“Stiles tried to kill himself. I found him and gave him the bite. He should be waking up soon.” Without saying any more, Derek shoved past them and threw himself down onto his couch, watching the evening sun over the trees.

Scott suddenly appeared in Derek’s line of sight, his eyes flaring red. “Derek, you know Stiles didn't want to be a werewolf,” he snapped. Derek’s eyes flickered up to Scott’s and he jumped up from the couch, his nose inch from Scott’s.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? The kid was dying! Is that too hard for your thick skull to understand? I saved his life!” He roared, baring his fanged teeth and flashing his blue eyes.

“I know. But Derek, he did this to himself. Maybe it would've been best if you-” Scott started, but Derek roared, punching him in the face. Scott’s head jerked to the side and he stumbled, falling backwards into the windows. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Derek screamed, grabbing Scott’s shirt and throwing him to the ground. He pummeled into Scott’s face, his wolf roaring with anger while his human side cowered away. 

“Derek!” Liam yelled, snapping him out of his blind rage. Derek stopped, string down at Scott’s mutilated face. 

“I’ve had enough with blood for today. Get the hell out of my house,” Derek growled, stepping away from Scott as he spit a crimson fluid onto the floor.

Liam followed grudgingly as Scott limped it of the loft, holding his broken ribs. Derek looked down at himself and noticed for the first time just how much blood he was covered in. He would have to throw away his clothes and take a shower before Stiles woke up. Stiles.

Derek marched back into his room, looking down at Stiles who was still unconscious and half naked. His wolf wanted to reach out, to nuzzle with the boy, but he shook his head and headed to the shower to wash away the day.


	8. Stiles

Gasping, Stiles shot up. He struggled to inhale enough oxygen into his lungs and grasped at anything he could reach. That’s when he noticed the fabric that was balled into his fists was a comforter, but it was way too soft to be his own. Then he looked down and saw that he was wearing a shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were too big but the shirt was one he had seen before on a particular werewolf.

Swinging his legs over the side of Derek’s bed,- Derek’s bed. Stiles had woken up in Derek Hale’s bed. Jumping up, he looked down at his arms and saw that they were flawless, no evidence of what had happened. But, that can’t be possible. Maybe he was dead and heaven was wearing Derek’s clothes and sleeping in his bed. Or maybe-

Before Stile could finish that thought, Derek burst into his room, holding a roll of newspaper in his hands with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. When he saw Stiles standing by the bed, white as a sheet and looking like he was about to have a panic attack, he dropped the paper and toast.  


Stiles held out his hands, trying keep who he thought was Derek away from him. If he was dead this must be some sort of illusion, it wasn’t real. Maybe it was his life flashing before his eyes. But he couldn't remember ever having woken up in Derek Hale’s bed before.

“Stiles, it’s me. I need you to sit down,” Derek pressed, approaching Stiles cautiously. Stiles shook his head, back away until his back hit the wall and he found himself in a corner.

“No. It’s not possible. I killed-” he started, but his throat closed. Tears flooded his eyes and his body began to shake, his heart hammering faster than natural. The panic attack was harder, more powerful than anything Stiles had experienced before. He couldn't breathe and didn't try to struggle when he felt Derek’s arms pull him up from the floor. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head while he fought to stay conscious, he limbs shaking violently. He could heard Derek’s muffled voice but couldn't make out the words. Derek had laid him out on the bed and just when he knew he was going to pass out, Stiles felt a calming warmth embrace him. 

Strong arms wrapped around Stiles and rubbed up and down his arms, calming the nerves and he could feel oxygen slowly flooding his lungs again. Derek's soothing words then floated over him, “Stiles, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.” 

Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek’s, staring into his, full of concern. Derek had wrapped himself around Stiles and as he came too, Derek slowly backed away. Stiles sat up again, watching as Derek stood up from the bed.

“Derek, what happened,” he croaked, his throat dry. Shaking his head, Derek sighed.

“You died, Stiles. And I brought you back,” he mumbled, flinching at the memory of finding Stiles in the bathroom.

“Derek,” Stiles said uneasily. “How did you do that?” Derek looked down at the ground, clenching his hands into fists.

“I bit you. I gave you the bite,” he choked. He looked everwhere but at Stiles’ eyes, but Stiles was grateful for that.

Tear fell down his cheeks, the truth hitting him, hard. Stiles was a werewolf. Derek had found him in the bathroom and saved him the best way he could. Numbed by the news, Stiles slowly slid out of the bed and approached Derek where he stood.

“Look, Stiles. I know you didn't want it, but you were dying and I just couldn't-” he started, but Stiles stopped him. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s torso, pulling him into an embrace. He felt Derek stiffen, then relax. He returned Stiles’ gesture, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy.

“Thank you, Derek,” he said, his words muffled in Derek’s shoulder.


	9. Scott

“So, Stiles is a werewolf now,” Isaac laughed. He shook his head, trying to imagine Stiles with any sort of supernatural grace.

“Yes, Stiles is a werewolf. But did you miss the part where he killed himself?” Scott barked, irritation evident in his voice. This whole situation was really pissing Scott off. Derek’s sudden supreme protectiveness of Scott’s friend, his brother, and nobody seemed to be picking up on the facts. Only what they wanted to talk about.

“Well, Scott, it is still a possibility that the bite kills Stiles,” Deaton said, his voice calm and level as he ties a stitch in a cat’s leg. Scott had taken Liam to Deaton after Derek had kicked them out of the loft, a day before Liam’s first full moon. Liam was now sleeping on the small couch in the waiting room.

“I know that, Deaton. I just don’t understand why Derek didn't let him die the way he wanted too, human. It would've been the honorable thing to do,” he ground out, scratching at the dry blood on his face.

“Because Derek couldn't let the one he loves die such a pathetic death,” Deaton replied. He didn't look Scott in the eyes as he handed the sedated feline to the teenager to put away in the holding crate.

“I love Stiles too! But I would not have bitten him. I would've found another way!” Scott growled, slamming the crate door shut. Deaton just shook his head as he cleaned the trays and scalpel.

“Scott, were you there?” Isaac finally cut in. All humor had left his voice, he was now serious and looked Scott dead in the eyes. He was starting to understand what Deaton was trying to say.

Dumbfounded, Scott looked at Isaac and gaped, “What?”

“Were you there when Stiles had found himself at such a low that he saw no other way out? Were you there for your best friend when he was high as a kite every day to hide his pain from not only himself, but _you_? Scott, were you there when Derek found Stiles, dead or dying?” Isaac’s voice was calm and steady, but powerful. He did not waver when Scott glared at him, his eyes flaring red.

“Are you questioning my loyalty? I’ve known Stiles longer than any of you people! Especially Derek! I love him like a brother and I want only the best for him but I don't think that turning him into a werewolf is the best way to go about that,” Scott growled, looking back and forth between Isaac and Deaton.

“Scott, you do know that it is possible he doesn't turn into a werewolf,” Deaton said, resting his hand on the young wolf’s shoulder.

“What?” Scott choked, his anger fading away.

“When someone is bitten, the poison affects most, differently. It is all dependent on who they are on the inside. Look at Malia, the girl is a werecoyote. For all we know, the kid could turn into a werekangaroo,” Deaton explained. 

“So, it truly is a waiting game,” Isaac interjected, crossing his arms.

“That it is, my boy.”


	10. Stiles

“Derek, I’m not hungry,” Stiles groaned, looking down at the mountain of eggs and bacon. “Besides, it’s six o’clock in the evening, not exactly breakfast time.”

Derek shook his head at Stiles from across the table and shoveled more eggs into his greedy mouth. Stiles he lost his appetite completely and found himself suffering from what he could only classify as withdrawal. He hadn't had his fix and it was starting to affect him drastically. And, of course, Derek could see it all.

“You know, Stiles, you’re going to have to shift before the full moon tomorrow night,” Derek finally said before taking a bite out of a piece of bacon.

Stiles froze, his blood running could. He could already feel a weight in his chest, a force begging to be let out. He remembered Scott’s first shift and tried with every bit of energy to keep the beast at bay, but this left him exhausted and nauseous. 

“No,” Stiles said simply. He couldn't give up his control that easily.

“You have too. If you wait until the full moon to have your first shift, not only will it be painful, but you will be completely out of control. It will be easier for your wolf to take over and there’s only so much I can do,” Derek pressed, hope in his eyes that Stiles will listen.

Closing his eyes, Stiles slowly shook his head. Then he muttered, “I’m going to take a shower.” Surprised by the sudden change in conversation, Derek nodded and pointed Stiles in the direction of the bathroom.

Stiles slowly pried himself up from the table, his limbs heavy. He shuffled over to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Suddenly, he was overcome with intense nausea and proceeded to puke his gut out into the toilet. Sweat sheened across his skin and he gagged, his eyes watering. When he opened them and looked into the toilet, he saw that most of it was crimson blood.

Panic gripped at his chest, sending his heart rate up through the roof. The heavyweight in his chest shifted and Stiles stood up from the floor. He gripped at the edges of the bathroom counter, staring into the mirror as he worked to control the beast that clawed at his ribs. When he saw the blood that stained his lips his panic only strengthened and his grip on the beast was loosening.

A pained growl forced itself way out of Stiles and the monster inside of him was slashing and tearing at his insides. A loud banging sounded on the door.

“Stiles! I need you to open the door,” Derek yelled, desperation thick in his words. Stiles turned to do as he’d asked, but the second his focus had shifted, a burning sensation tore through his body. When he looked up into the mirror, his eyes glowed not gold or even the piercing blue of a werewolf, but the light, soft blue of the night sky.

Stiles cried out in pain and slammed his fist down onto the counter, trying with all of his will power to control the beast that was mere seconds away from tearing free. 

“Stiles! Damn it,” Derek growled. The door burst open and in a matter of seconds Stiles was wrapped up in Derek’s arms and dragged out of the room. He was deposited in the main of the loft, the sun set casting a soft light upon the room through the windows.

“Derek, I can’t. I don’t want to,” Stiles heaved, his voice deep and hoarse. His muscles were tensed, tight and fighting. His whole body ached and was filled with immense pain.

“You need to relax. Let it happen. The longer you fight the longer you will suffer,” Derek coached, resting his hand of Stiles’ shoulder.

“But, control-” Stiles choked. Derek shook his head, not taking his eyes away from Stiles’

“That will come with time. I need you to trust me. It will be so much worse tomorrow. Stiles, you are strong. I know you can do it,” Derek pushed, tightening his grip. Stiles shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly, he screamed out in pain and his claws tore through his hands, digging into the floor.

“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek growled. And then Derek Hale did something that will change the course of Stiles’ life forever.

Stiles made a strangled noise when he felt a pair of rough, firm lips on his own. He was knocked backwards by a strong, methodical body and pinned to the ground. He felt a tongue swipe at his mouth, almost as if to ask for entrance.When he opened his lips, there was no mistake as the tongue swiped over his fangs and danced with his own. Acting without really thinking, Stiles gripped at Derek shoulders, his claws digging into the skin. Derek seethed and bit Stiles’ bottom lip. When he felt Derek shift so that his narrow waist was nestled between his legs, Stiles’ mind went blank. 

He could feel the rumbling of Derek’s predatory growl through his body and he couldn't help but growl in return. Derek pulled at Stiles’ hair and kissed him in a desperate, hungry manner that pleaded for Stiles to submit, to give up control. And then it was over.

Derek pulled away, standing and took a step back. His lips was red and swollen and his arms were streaked with blood. Running his fingers through his hair, he nodded to Stiles, who looked down and saw that his claws were gone. His finger tips were slick with Derek’s blood and he could feel the cozy contentment settling into his chest.

Stiles looked up at Derek for a moment, his eyes wide and his body buzzing. What the hell? Finally, he laughed, “Derek Hale, did you just kiss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback so far! I hope you're enjoying a bit of Sterek angst. More chapters are to come, I promise! I will be updating diligently.


	11. Derek

Derek fucked up. To say the least.

He just kissed Stiles! Derek's heart was hammering so hard in his chest, it threatened to burst through his rib cage. His wolf was dancing and singing, smug to the fullest, but his human was horrified. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and spreading through his neck and chest. He needed to think of something and fast.

"You were losing control. I needed to ground you," he snapped. Stiles' eyes were wide and his hair was ruffled, the ghost of Derek's fingers swirling through the thick strands.

"That you did," Stiles breathed, his lips slick with Derek's saliva. His face was whiter than a sheet, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and his hands shook uncontrollably against the torn ground.

"You're welcome," Derek grumbled, trying to hide the glee his wolf was working so hard to express. He had to hold himself back from going back to Stiles and finishing what he started. What the hell?!

Stiles slowly pulled himself up from the ground and swayed on his feet, before walking to where Derek stood frozen. He then, to Derek's despair, rubbed his nose against his jaw, the stubble surely scratching the delicate skin. Derek could feel his unsteady but warm breath against his neck, and shivered when Stiles took a deep inhale, scenting Derek.

His wolf wanted nothing more than to grab Stiles then and there and mark him as his own, so every werewolf in Beacon Hills would know that Stiles was his. Derek was so confused and did not understand what was going on.

"Tell me, Sourwolf," Stiles growled, his voice deeper than normal. Derek could feel a single claw drag down his bicep. Suddenly, Derek realized, that Stiles wasn't in control, but his wolf. "Are you to kiss me  _every_ time I lose control?"

"Stiles," Derek snapped and pushed Stiles away. Then he cocked his head, taken aback. 

Stiles stood, his pale skin and sunken eyes reminding Derek too much of a particular dark fox. Then his eyes began to glow and he smiled, his fangs smaller than that of a wolf but sharper and ready to tear into flesh. But is eyes glowed a soft, sapphire blue that reminded him of a creek bed. Okay, maybe not a wolf.

Without a moment to comprehend what was happening, Stiles lunged at Derek, sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Derek roared, his wolf tearing free and throwing Stiles off of him. His eyes flared and Derek slashed a clawed hand at his face, leaving deep gashes that closed instantly. Before Stiles could get another hit in, Derek grabbed him by the throat and tossed him into the wall, his grip tightening as Stiles snapped at his wrist.

Suddenly, the door to the loft burst open and Scott filed in with Liam and Deaton following behind. Deaton took one look at Stiles, his glowing eyes and slim claws. His eyes widened slightly and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial.

"Stiles, listen to me. You need to fight it. You are a fox, not a wolf. It will be harder to control, but you can do it," Deaton pressed, pushing Scott and Liam to the side. Stiles looked away from Derek and glared at Deaton.

"I think not. Gotta say, love the new model," Stiles sneered, his words dripping with malice and his voice grumbling. 

"Stiles, this isn't you. You don't want to hurt Derek," Scott pressed, stepping forward. Stiles turned away from Deaton and when he saw Scott, all hell broke loose.

Stiles let out a strangled roar, throwing Derek off of him and charging at Scott. Any hint of humor was gone and there was only pure bloodlust left in his eyes. Growling, he sunk his claws into Scott's chest and slammed him into the ground. His eyes burned and saliva dripped from his fangs as he snarled down at Scott.

"Scott! Don't move!" Deaton yelled, halting Scott's shift. Stiles raised his other clawed hand, but before he could deliver a possibly fatal blow, Deaton stabbed a needle into his neck. He pushed down the plunger and watched as a glistening, silvery fluid disappeared into Stiles' body.

His eyes fogged over and he dropped his hand, the rest of his body quickly following. Stiles fell limp onto the ground next to Scott, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. Derek watched as Stiles' claws slowly sunk back into his fingers and his eyes flickered back to their natural, whiskey color.

"What did you do," Derek snapped, glaring at Deaton. Although he knew Stiles needed it, his wolf was still on edge at the possibility of Stiles being inured.

"I forced him to shift," Deaton said simply, sliding the vial back into his pocket. "His fox had too tight of a grip on him. He wouldn't have been able to do it himself."

There was a moment of silence as Derek processed what Deaton had said. Stiles wasn't a werewolf, but a werefox? All the information Derek ever got about foxes was what he knew from his experience with the Nogitsune. And there was nothing pretty about that.

"Well shit, this is not going to be easy."


	12. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but I will be updating at the least a chapter every day. I thank you so much for your patience and commentary! It really helps me out a lot. Keep em coming!

When Stiles woke up the first thing he noticed was the blinding smell of antiseptic and animal feces. He groaned, his body heavy and soar. Suddenly, the memory of the night before flashed behind his eyes. Fear gripped at his heart and he shot up, gasping with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Stiles swung his legs over the side of the metallic table and- Wait. Table?

Stiles looked down at his body, scanning for any signs of injury but the only remnance of any such thing was the heavy pounding in his head. Heavy foot steps sounded and his eyes shot up, only to see none other than Derek Hale. 

Derek slunk into the vet's office and sat down on the small couch, not acknowledging Stiles in the slightest. A heavy silence hung in the air of the room and it made Stiles anxious. He began swinging his feet, hitting his heel on one of the legs of the table. The small thud that resonated from his shoe against the metal made him twitch.

Finally, Derek broke the silence. "Deaton will be here soon."

Slowly nodding his head, Stiles looked down at his hands. Despite the evident attempts to wash it away, a light pink tint of blood stained his fingers. Looking back up at Derek, Stiles asked in such a light whisper the only way Derek was able to hear it was because of his enhanced hearing.

"What happened?"

"You lost control," Derek huffed. He reached over to the small end table and began flipping through a magazine about the danger of flees and ticks.

"Did I hurt-" Stiles started but Derek stopped him.

"Yes. But nobody died." 

"Derek, I am-" but then Deaton marched into the office, and to Stiles' surprise, Lydia sauntered in after him with Kira in hand.

"Mr. Stilinski! It's nice to see that you've joined the world of the living. Better late than never," Deaton greeted, looking down at his watch. Before Stiles could get a word in, he started again. "Tonight will be your first full moon, so there are a few things you should know. And trust me, you are not going to like it."

A cold fear gripped at Stiles chest, but he slowly nodded his head for Deaton to continue. "Stiles, you are not a werewolf. Far from it, in fact. It would seem that, due to past events as well as the circumstances of your death, your body was not accustomed for a wolf, but a fox." 

A fox? But, how is that possible? Derek bit him, a werewolf. He should be a wolf. If Stiles is a fox, then could that mean he's-

The Nogitsune. 

"This is a trick, isn't it?" Stiles choked, his eyes wide with fear. A look of confusion flittered across Deaton's face, but then Lydia's eyes clicked with understanding. She pushed past Deaton and rested her small hands against Stiles neck, holding his eyes with hers. 

"No, Stiles. This isn't a trick. This is real," she soothed, her voice calm but strong. Her green eyes bore into his, looking for any sign of doubt. But his usually bright eyes were dark and clouded. She could see the battle tearing through him like a storm. He was going to break.

"I have to wake up," Stiles muttered to himself. Then he was pushing Lydia away from him and slamming his palms against his head, his eyes squeezed shut as a single tear fell down his face. "Wake up!"

Derek leapt to his feet and grabbed Stiles wrists to hold them away from his head. "Stiles, this is not a dream. You're awake, you're here with me."

"NO! It's not possible. I don't want it to be real! I can't be like him," Stiles cried. His body still weak from his forced shift, Stiles fell forward, his head resting on Derek's shoulder.

"You're not like the Nogitsune, Stiles. He's dead. You're just a different case. Just like Lydia and Kira, even Malia. You're not a wolf and that's okay. That means that tonight, we'll need to be ready for anything," Deaton said, grabbing Stiles' shoulders and slowly lowering him so he lay on the table. "But first I need to take some tests."

"What kind of tests," Derek growled, not liking the line of syringes Deaton had laid out on the small tray.

"I need to know what kind of fox he is. Like kitsunes, werefoxes are all different," Deaton explained. He looked down and when he saw that Stiles had fallen asleep, he continued. "It is a small possibility that Stile portrays the traits and abilities of a particular dark fox. But it is also possible that he is like Kira, in that he holds a more natural and balanced power."

Derek slowly nodded his head and waved his hand as a way of giving Deaton permission to proceed. Deaton grabbed the first syringe and explained to Derek, "Let's start by eliminating our worst fear. This will let us know if Stiles is a dark fox." But before he could go on with his test, Liam burst through the door, his eyes glowing yellow and his claws extended.

"Derek! I need your help. The moon, I don't know what's happening," he heaved. Derek looked down at his watch and gaped. It was already time. How could he have forgotten. He needed to get Liam and Stiles to the loft.

"It's going to be a long night," Derek growled. And with that, he grabbed Stiles up from the table and carried him from the building, a groaning Liam following close behind.


	13. Stiles

Stiles woke up for what felt like the hunderedth time. But this time he was chained to the floor. Stiles tried to stand but he couldn't get to his feet, leaving him to rest on his knees. With every movement the chains rustled and clinked against the hard floor. When he looked forward he saw through the wall of windows, the full moon shining a soft light across his pale skin, slick with sweat. Then a deep growl pulled him from his thoughts.

Looking to his left, Stiles saw Liam. The kid was hunched over, his wrists restrained behind him. He could see the claws pertruding from Liam's hand, his breathing labored and a thick growl resonated through the room. The full moon was affecting him drastically, but to Stiles' surprise, he felt fine. At least, for now.

"It's about time. I was beginning to think you'd sleep straight through the night," Derek said, appearing by Liam's side. He checked the tightness of the cuffs and jumps back a bit when Liam turned on him, snapping at his hands.

"Well, we can't let my  _fox_ miss all the fun," Stiles snapped, the word "fox" dripping with malice. "Who knows, maybe I'll kill the other twin tonight." He could feel an unfamiliar rage bubbling up inside of him, the extent of it surprising him. When he turned away from Derek and looked ahead at the windows, he could see his glowing eyes through the reflection of the glass.

"Stiles," Derek said, his very wary with caution. As the moon grew higher in the sky, it's light almost blinding, Stiles could feel his mind becoming fuzzy. Stiles didn't like it when his mind wasn't clear. That's how he survived. He was the smart one. The man with the plan. But right now, for the first time, he wasn't clear. Stiles Stilinski did not know what was going to happen. He didn't have a plan.

"Derek, I think you should go," Stiles choked. His voice wavered and he knew Derek could smell the fear dripping off of him.

"Nope," Derek replied simply.

"Please. I could hurt you," Stiles begged.

"Trust me. This is not my first rodeo."

"Derek,-" but before Stiles could finish, Liam was roaring. He thrashed against the chains, his teeth bared at Stiles. His eyes wild and intent on killing.

Then something clicked in Stiles. The rage had reached a boiling point and he felt a strange calm settle in his bones. He looked back up at the moon, seeming to bask in its light. He bared his neck, knowing it would drive Liam mad. Then a wicked laugh escaped his lips as Liam jerked again, a sickening pop resonating through the room. The boy howled in pain and fell back, lifting his elbow so his shoulder popped back into place.

"Awe. Did the puppy hurt his shoulder?" Stiles laughed. When Liam turned back to him, snarling in his place, Stiles growled in return, his needle like teeth bared. Then, Liam yelped in pain. 

He stumbled backwards, straining against the chains as he got as far away from Stiles as possible. He squeezed his eyes shut, howling and writhing on the ground. Then hideous blisters appeared on his skin, hissing angrily as puss slid down his arms and neck. Derek ran to the beta, trying to figure out what was happening. When he looked up, he saw that Stiles' eyes were no longer blue, but black. They resembled pools of ink and death, a wicked smile painted on his face.

"Stiles! Stop this!" Derek roared. Stiles just looked up away from Liam and smirked, the black shrinking away into the glowing blue Derek had grown accustomed too, surprisingly fast. He always knew Stiles would have blue eyes. 

Liam stopped writhing and whimpered as the blisters healed. Stiles smiled, a true to nature, Stiles smile, and said in a smooth voice, "Yes sir." Derek was taken back. His wolf was pleased with the submission, but he knew better. He knew Stiles would never have given up so easily. That he would have fought Derek, put him down and that he would never,  _never_ , flirt with him.

Then the door to the loft burst open. Luckily, Stiles and Liam faced away from the front, staring ahead through the windows. So when Scott walked in, Derek became hostile. He immediately remembered Stiles' reaction to Scott the last time and didn't want to replay. Especially on a full moon.

He tried to wave Scott out of the room, jerking his arms in the direction of the door, but it was too late. Stiles took a deep inhale, and smirked. Derek watched as his eyes were sucked back into the pool of ink and with a deafening click, Liam's cuffs came undone. The rabid beta jumped to his feet and attacked the first thing he could, which happened to be Derek.

Derek flew backwards, knocked off his feet. Liam straddled him and sunk his claws into his shoulders, holding him down. Derek tried to pry him off, but his claws were imbedded too deep and the pain left him blind. He watched in horror as Liam's teeth came down around his throat, preparing to tear out the organ. But then he was being thrown off of him. Derek howled in pain as several layers of skin and muscle were torn from his arms.

When he recovered and shot to his feet, he was shocked to see Stiles standing over Liam, who cowered in a corner, clawing at his eyes. Stiles swooped down and grabbed Liam by his collar, throwing him up against the wall and sneering in his face, "Touch him again and I  _will_ kill you. And it will be a long excruciating death. Do you understand,  _puppy_?" With a nod, Liam fell from Stiles' grasp. He immediately tried to stand back up, but Stiles looked down at him and in an instant he fell unconsciouse. Stiles turned back to Derek and smirked, "You're welcome." Then, before Derek could stop him, Scott jumped Stiles.

Stiles fell backwards into the windows, his head cracking the thick glass. Scott had sunk his claws into Stiles neck, tendrils of blood pouring down over his chest and arms. With every movement, more blood trickled out around Scott fingers. It was obvious Stiles was immense pain, but he seemed not to notice.

Snarling, Stiles grabbed Scott's wrist and growled, "Now won't you look at that. Big bad alpha is standing up for his pathetic beta. How adorable." Before Scott could respond, Stiles snapped the bone. Scott roared, releasing his neck and falling back, cradling his broken wrist.

"You think you can control me? Think again, BUDDY!" Stiles roared. With a wave of his hand, Scott flew across the room. He landed with a sickening crash into Derek's already broken table. The wood gave out beneath him and he fell through. Groaning, Scott rolled out from under the table and struggled to get to his feet. Stiles was there in an instant.

"Derek!" Scott yelled, but before he could say more, Stiles reached down and threw him back into the windows. He smiled and to Derek's amazement, it looked almost like Stiles was having fun. Like he was playing with his food.

Blood sputtered from Scott's lips and he fought for another breath as Stiles held him against the glass with an invisible force. His nose was inches away from Scott's and snickered at Scott's failed attempt to snap at his neck, his fangs dripping with blood. 

"Tell me, Scotty boy. Did you love Allison?" Silence echoed in the room, the only sound Scott's labored breaths.

"Stiles, stop this," Derek growled, stepping forward. He knew he had to do something but deep down, he knew Scott deserved what was coming for him.

"Why? He deserves to suffer for his crimes," Stiles snarled, his humor evaporating. 

"What crimes?!" Scott choked, spitting blood at Stiles.

"What crimes? Seriously? Well, let's start with the basics. How about letting your mate  _die_? Hm? It was your job to protect Allison and you failed. And then to blame it on me? I was  _dying_ , Scott. But you were too wrapped up in yourself to notice!"

"Don't you dare," Scott begged, his eyes gleaming with tears.

"I died Scott! I killed myself!" Stiles roared, his body being taken over by the fury and rage. Small cracks broke out across the windows, sprouting from where Scott was pressed into the glass.

"Stiles," Derek said, his voice low. He approached Stiles like that of an animal, afraid he would spook it. When Stiles turned to him, tears brimmed his own dark pools and sickening, black veins curled through his cheeks. When Derek took another step forward, Stiles shot up his hand and sent Derek flying into another wall, pinning him to the bricks.

Stiles turned to back Scott and growled, "And I did it because of you, Scott. I couldn't stand another day of your whining, your complaining. And you know what, you probably wanted me dead, didn't you? You couldn't stand seeing my face every, _fucking_ day, couldn't you? The face of the man who murdered the love of your life. You probably hate Derek for saving me, don't you?!"

When Scott opened his mouth to respond, Stiles shook his head. He grabbed Scott's throat and spun around, throwing him down with a resonating thud. He leaned down and roared, his clawed hand raised above his head, "Well guess what, Scotty?! I am dead!" Heavy winds blew through the room, pulling at Stiles clothes and hair, thick with dried blood. The wind howled and screamed like that of burning women and children, screaming for death. "And you killed me!" With that, the windows burst.

Glass shards rained into the loft, slicing mercilessly as Scott's skin and Derek. Derek roared in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles looked up from Scott, and he took this chance. 

Scott threw Stiles off of him, pushing himself on top and slashed at the boy's chest. But Stiles wasn't looking at Scott. His craned his head, staring at Derek. Then, with the flick of a wrist, the wind died. The glass fell to the ground with a resonating crash and Stiles turned back to Scott, who was also looking at Derek as he was released from the wall.

Derek ran over to where to the boys lay and pushed Scott off of Stiles. When he looked down at the fox, he watched as the veins faded and the black pools shrunk into the calming, cool hazel. Stiles reached up, his claws gliding gently across Derek's jaw. Then they were gone, along with his fangs. His lids heavy, he dropped his hand and sighed, "I really hate wolves." Then he fell unconscious. Again.


	14. Derek

Derek watched as the darkness faded from Stiles, his chest constricting at the pale skin and sunken eyes, the deep circles reminiscent of the boy's insomnia. Slowly, he slid his hands under his legs and shoulders, carrying him to Derek's room. He ignored Scott's protest, saying that "he should be taken to Deaton", and laid the boy on his bed.

When he returned, he saw that Scott had left, evidently wth Liam. Derek sighed, staring at the wreck his loft had become. He looked over at the wall that had once been dependable glass, now nothing but broken panes and air. He could feel the cool breeze floating through the loft, fluttering across his hot skin and rustling the thin blades that littered the floor. He frowned at the demolished table, splinters rolling with the wind. Derek shook his head, stepping up to the ledge of the loft where windows once contained him, and stared down at the abandoned alley way.

Derek turned and headed deeper into the room and lifted the pathetic excuse for a table above his head. He carried it back to the edge and tossed it into the alley. There was a deafening crash and shards of wood flew into the air, threatening to slice his skin. Then he disappeared from the space, retrieving a broom he neglected mostly. Then he began to sweep the glass into the alley as well, praying for the next bum that decided to make residence in that particular alleyway. 

The calming, methodical work gave him a chance to think. To think about Stiles. Deaton was right about the fox, that it would hold a tighter grip on the boy's humanity. What the Druid hadn't told him though, was that the kid had fucking super powers! Derek knew that each fox was different, that they held elemental abilities, but what he had witnessed was pure evil. The darkness that had latched onto Stiles so easily left his head spinning with questions and his chest tight with worry.

Once the loft was relatively cleaned and presentable, despite the blood stains that soaked his floors and couch, Derek wandered back into his bedroom where Stiles reside. He creaked open the door before slipping in, working not to wake the fox. Then, for the first time, Derek got a chance to look at Stiles. To  _really_ look at him.

Stiles' body was slick with sweat and blood, his hands dripping with it. His chest rose with every shallow breath, barely noticeable except for the small puffs of air Derek could hear. His eyes were swollen slightly and hidden beneath deep, dark circles that made him look deathly. Derek couldn't tear his eyes from the blood that stained the boy's porceline cheeks, hiding his delicately placed moles. But the blood did nothing to hide the ghosts of the veins that had snaked their way into his features, sucking the kindness and joy from his eyes. Derek scowled at the memory. He really was at a loss of what to do with the kid. He needed Deaton's help.

***

Pulling up to the vet's office, Derek slipped out of his car and jerked open the passenger's door. Reaching in, he lifted a still unconscious Stiles from the seat and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him up to the door. Before he could knock, Scott threw it open and stepped aside, allowing Derek and file in.

"Mr. Hale, it's so nice to see you," Deaton greeted. He looked up from a sleeping Liam, a wet sponge held against his neck as he wiped away any trace of what had happened. 

Derek nodded in return, skipping the pleasantries. Deaton gestured to an empty operating table line up next to his currently occupied one. Slowly, Derek slid Stiles off of his shoulder and gently lowered his body onto the cool metal, taking note of the way Scott looked at him.

"What," Derek snapped, turning to where the young alpha had slunk in a corner.

"Nothing," Scott growled, his heart skipping.

"Lie," he said, shaking his head. After a moment of silence, Derek could smell the discomfort radiating from Scott's skin.

"It's just, the way you handle Stiles. It's like you didn't even see what he did."

"Do you see Mr. Stilinski in a different light, after what you just saw?" Deaton interjected before Derek could reply, seeming to notice the way his shoulders bristled.

"How couldn't I? He was going to kill me," Scott scoffed, crossing his arms defensively.

"As you did him during your first full moon. If I recall correctly, he had to go as far as to cuff you to a radiator," Deaton soothed, turning away and ringing out the sponged in a sink. The pink water that dripped into the drain made Scott sneer. Derek did not miss it.

"Yeah, but Deaton. This was different. Stiles, was different. He moved things with his mind, and his eyes. Deaton, they were black. He looked like-"

"The Nogitsune," Derek growled, seeing where Scott was going with this. Looking away from Deaton, Scott stared at Derek for a moment before nodding his head.

"Ah, my dear boy. That is because it would seem Stiles has developed into the dark fox. Void, as you like to refer to it. This was to be expected," Deaton replied, holding the peace. The protectiveness that Derek held over the boy did not go unnoticed, especially in the way he had positioned himself between Scott and Stiles.

Dumbfounded, Scott gaped at Deaton. "You knew this was going to happen?!"

"Well of course. The circumstances of his death, his system was swirling with pain and fear. The darkness that had always resided around his heart, his insatiable blood lust. You may not have seen it, but I could sense the deep rooted despair within the boy from the beginning."

Derek knew it was true, though he himself tried to deny it. He could always smell the darkness the boy had done so well at keeping locked away, hidden from the world, even himself. 

"Then why... How could you allow this to occur?" Scott stammered, his heart rate rising.

"What did you want me to do?" Deaton replied, snapping on a pair of clean, latex gloves before making his way to the side of Stiles' table. "Derek, if you could be so kind as to wet that sponge and help me wash away all this blood."

Derek walked to the sink reluctantly, feeling a tug in his chest that told him he shouldn't leave the young fox so vulnerable. Picking up the sponge, he returned to the table and began rubbing away the stains, starting with his cheeks. Then moving down to his neck. He noticed the torn fabric of his shirt and growled, the memory of Scott's claws slashing through Stiles' skin, resurfacing. Slowing, he unbuttoned the familiar flannel and cleansed the exposed chest while Deaton checked the boy's pulse, blood pressure, and heart rate.

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but the door to the office swung open and the familiar click of tiny heeled shoes and the strong, flowery perfume wafting into the room announced the presence of none other than Lydia Martin. 

"I heard what happened. Where is he," she snipped, her small skirt flailing behind her. Scott mutely pointed to where Derek was cleaning Stiles' hands and Deaton pressed a stethoscope to his chest. Flicking her curls over her shoulder, Lydia positioned herself at his head, cupping his face in her dainty hands.

"He's a fox," Scott said simply, glaring at the side of Derek's head. Derek could feel his wolf growling, snarling at the teen, but he shook his head. This really was pathetic. "A  _dark_ fox."

"Figures," Lydia huffed, tangling her fingers in his thick hair. "Is he okay?" Derek preened at her concern, though his wolf sneered, a sense of jealousy creeping into his chest. Jealousy? Why should he be jealous of Lydia?

"He's fine. Though it's going to be a bumpy road, to say the least," Derek said, turning away and ringing out the sponge again. 

"And we'll be with him every step of the way. Has he found his anchor yet?" Lydia muttered to herself, though saying the last part loud enough to be addressing the room.

"Hm, I don't know. Derek, how did the boy change back?" Deaton queried. Leave it to Lydia to think with any kind of logic. Of course, his anchor.

"Um, I'm not really sure. He was fighting Scott and then," Derek paused, scratching at his skull. Stiles had been staring right at Derek, his expression calm. Derek could hear the steady beat of his heart for the first time that night and then suddenly everything went still. "Just stopped."

"It's Derek," Scott spoke up, his words forced through gritted teeth.

"What?" Lydia gasped, looking between Derek and Scott then back to Stiles, then at Derek.

"Now isn't that an interesting change of events," Deaton beamed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "The killer becomes the savior."

"I'm not-" Derek started, but Scott stopped him, He now stood at Stiles' feet, a smirk on his face as he stared at Derek.

"Oh come on, I saw the way he looked at you. You forget that I too am a werewolf, an Alpha at that. I could hear the way he calmed when he heard your voice. I could sense the battle roaring inside of him, the battle between his love for you and his hatred towards me," Scott sneered as he slowly sauntered closer to Derek, their noses inches apart. "But of course, his bloodlust won. Good job Derek, you brought out the monster hidden inside of my friend and there is no going back."

"Back off," Derek warned, his wolf snarling and pushing down the human side of Derek. He could feel his claws tearing through his hands and the fangs that tore at his jaw. But Scott didn't move, holding his ground.

"How do you think he will feel when he finds out what you've done? He's spent his whole life fighting it, only to have it all thrown away. Do you think he'll forgive you?"

"Scott," Lydia warned, her eyes flicking between Derek's claws and Scott's glowing red eyes.

"You should have let him  _die_!" Scott roared. Derek broke.

Roaring, Derek grabbed Scott's throat and threw him into the wall across the room. His eyes stared into Scott's, piercing blue against burning red. 

"Derek!" both Deaton and Lydia cried at the same time. But Derek wasn't listening. Blood was roaring in his ears, his breathing deep and he snarled in Scott's face, daring him to submit.

Scott responded by growling, baring his fangs and grabbing Derek's waist with his clawed hands. Pain shot through his body and Derek had Scott on the floor in an instant, his skull making an indentation in the tile.

"Damnit," Deaton sighed, shaking his head. "I just replaced that."

Derek slammed his fist into Scott's collar bone. Satisfaction flooded his system at the sweet sound of the bone snapping and Scott howling in pain. After a moment of Scott crying out in agony, he slowly turned his head, baring his neck in a sign of submission. Content, Derek stood up from the boy.

Scott struggled to stand, but when he finally got to his feet, Derek shoved him backwards until his shoulders hit the door.

"Leave," Derek growled, still baring his teeth. With a curt nod, Scott stumbled out of the office and Derek listened as the rumble of his motorcycle disappeared. Seething, Derek stared into the night and forced his wolf back down.

"Derek," Deaton said, snapping Derek from his rage.

"He had no right-" Derek started, but Lydia stopped him.

"Yeah, yeah. He was out of line. But, Derek." Derek turned around to see Lydia's face ghostly, staring down at Stiles. Deaton had slunk bac towards his medicine cabinet and pulled out another syringe filled with silver liquid.

"Stiles," Derek breathed, slowly approaching the table. He looked down at the boy and saw that his eyes were open, but they were held captive by the swirling pools of ink and dark veins littered his soft cheeks. Stiles stared up at the ceiling, seeming to not be processing what was happening around him.

Derek then pressed his hand against his shoulder, and Stiles blinked, the darkness disappearing, replaced by his soft gold iris. Slowly, Stiles turned his head and looked up at Derek, a small smile on his face. 

"Hey Sourwolf, why so tense?" Derek couldn't help but chuckle, a warm joy filling his chest. Stiles was back. And Derek was not going to let anyone take him away.


	15. Scott

Scott rode through the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, the only sound the rumbling of his motorcycle. He considered going home to his mom, he always felt better after talking to her. But then he thought better of it. He needed to talk to somebody he could trust, somebody who trusted him in return.

The motorcycle rolled over the tossed asphalt and came to a stop, silence flooding the air when Scott pulled the keys from the ignition. The breeze was thick with anxious rain, the humidity almost suffocating as Scott clambered up a small hill, though it felt like a dragging climb up Mount. Everest. Finally, it came into view.

Scott slowly moved over to the small stone, his legs heavy. It was a quaint stone, slammed into the dirt. "In Loving Memory of Allison Argent. A Friend, A Daughter, And A Hero", was engraved into the rock. Scott examined the withered flowers that littered her resting place, making it look old and dirty. Shaking his head, he collected the plants and crushed them in his hands, watching as the ashened beauty floated away with the wind.

Lowering himself to his knees, Scott ran his fingers across the grainy stone, tears in his eyes. Finally he choked around a swollen throat, "I miss you, Allison." More tears flittered down his cheeks and he choked back a sob through gritted teeth, the aching in his chest almost unbearable.

"God, I miss you so much. You would know what to do," he cried, his voice fading away at the last word. His breathing was forced and burned his lungs, his chest constricting. "Stiles, he's dead." There was only silence, the small blades of grass sratching his exposed ankles. 

"Not the way you'd think. Not like you," Scott muttered, finally getting control over his emotions. "He's changed. He tried to kill himself, you know. Everyone thinks it's my fault. Maybe it is." He scratched at the dried blood on his nose.

"I love him. I love him so much and now he's suffering but there's nothing I can do about it. I tried to explain to the pack, to Derek, that Stiles never would've wanted this. To live a life of pain and darkness. To live my life." Scott bit his lip, trying desperately to halt the new wave of water works.

"But he wouldn't listen. Nobody listens to stupid old Scott McCall." Looking up at the full moon, the soft light almost comforting, Scott felt a tear roll down his cheek. He knew he was covered in blood, but he did nothing to wash it away.

"I think he should have died. Not because I'm some sadistic, son of a bitch. But because it's what he would've wanted. Stiles is human... Was. That's how he should have gone out. Like you, Allison. Strong, brave, and human. Not like me. Not like Derek. We are monsters, hunted as such. It's not a life to live.

"I made a mistake. Without you, Allison, I'm falling apart. I don't have an anchor, I'm out of control. I know I shouldn't have said what I did, but I was just so angry that Stiles had to deal with this. You should see him. He may be breathing but he'd might as well be dead." The wind started to die down but then a drop of rain fell on Scott's shoulder, followed by another until it began to pour. But Scott didn't move. He let his tears be washed away by the drops.

"I want the best for my brother, you know that right? I just can't watch him become the monster he's destined to become. Did you know he's part Nogitsune? The kid turned into a werefox and the fucking fox is void. You know, the kind of fox that killed you? That killed Aiden? I only see darkness and that's no life to live, especially for Stiles. He deserves so much better." As the rain came down harder, chills had crept down Scott's spine, leaving his limbs tingling and heavy. Then a flash of lightning climbed across the sky, aluminating the grave. A small hand pressed down on Scott's shoulder.

Jumping to his feet, Scott turned around to see none other than Kira, the gentle kitsune. Without saying a word, she pulled him into a hug that allowed fresh air to fill his lungs. Her wet hair clung to his cheeks as he rested his chin on her shoulder. 

"Scott, it's going to be okay," she soothed, her voice washing over him like honey over the roaring rain. "We're going to save him." And for the first time in a very long time, Scott felt hope. 

***

Kira drove Scott, his motorcycle hooked to the back. The rain pattered against the windshield, a dark shadow flooding over Kira's features. They rode in silence, until finally curiosity got the best of him.

"Kira, where are we going?"

"I heard about what happened," she said, ignoring Scott's question. "Lydia told me."

"It's not what you think," Scott started. He was prepared to defend himself, knowing only hatred was going to spew from Kira's mouth.

"You love him, don't you," she said, her words halting his thoughts. Turning away from the road ahead, Scott looked at the side of her face in awe.

"Yes. He's my best friend," he choked, trying to fight more tears. What the hell was up with the emotions?

"But he's more than that. Stiles is your brother. He's family. And you always look after family, right?"

"Yes, of course," Scott said desperately, suddenly seeing that Kira wasn't going to tell him that he was wrong. That he was a cold hearted bastard.

After a few more minutes of silence, she whispered, "We're going to Derek's loft." 

Startled, Scott yelped, "What!"

Nodding her head vigorously, almost as if to reassure herself, Kira stuttered, "We have to make things right. If Stiles is going to fight the darkness, he has to know that there are people that love him."

"He has Derek," Scott pouted, his heart hammering. If he went back, Derek was surely going to kill him. 

Shaking her head, Kira sighed, "That's not enough. He needs his brother, Scott. Listen, I know you're struggling, I can see it in your eyes. I will help you. But Stiles needs you just as much as you need him."

"It didn't seem that way when he was trying to kill me," Scott muttered, surprised that Kira even heard him.

"That wasn't him, and you know it. It's the fox, Scott. You must first battle the darkness before you can reach the light."

A small smile played at his lips before Scott laughed, "When did you become so philosophical?"

Kira's cheeks turned pink and she tried her best to hide it before defending, "Read it in one of those books Lydia gave me."

The smile faded from Scott's face when he saw Kira turn the familiar corner onto Derek's street. "You know they're going to kill me, right?" 

"Listen, they have no right to blame you for what happened. Scott, you need to stand up for yourself. You are the Alpha. Not Derek, not Stiles.  _You_ ," Kira said, stressing the "you". "There was nothing you could have done.  _None_ of this is your fault."

"I just wish they could see it that way," Scott muttered.

When Scott looked away from Kira and forward, he frowned. They pulled up to the loft and even from here, Scott could hear Stiles' heart beat. He'd know that sporadic beat anywhere, always seeming to go a million miles an hour.

"Alrighty, let the games begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a dedicated reader, @Escalus. Your input has helped me to reassess the relationship between Scott and Stiles. It has also allowed the audience to see Scott's side of the story in addition to Derek's and Stiles'. I hope you stick with me, your commentary has been a tremendous asset to help improve the work as well as my ability as a writer!


	16. Stiles

Derek had taken Stiles back to the loft after Deaton cleared him, saying he was in prime health. But he didn't feel it to be true. His hands still shook and he felt weak, but nodding his head, he clambered into Derek's car.

After arriving at the loft, Derek helped him into the building and deposited him on the couch. The first thing Stiles noticed was the intense smell of blood. The iron scent made his head spin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose in a failed attempt to get rid of the small headache that was pulsing behind his eyes.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Derek asked, concern lacing his voice. He had crouched in front of him, his hand on his knee. Stiles opened his eyes, confused by the tender touch. Looking between the hand on his leg and Derek's soft, searching eyes, he nodded his head.

"Careful Derek. People will start to think you've gone soft," Stiles croaked, laughing a breathy laugh. Derek furrowed his eyebrows, then looked at where his hand rested. In a matter of two seconds, Derek was up and away from Stiles, leaning against one of the panes that once held glass.

Then the memory of the night before flashed before him. His uncontrollable rage, urge to kill everything. Then the underlying instinct to protect Derek. From Liam? Stiles shook his head, trying to clear it. But images of blood, so much of it, wouldn't leave him. Scott's fearful eyes, held in place. But Stiles wasn't touching him. His fox told Scott to stay still, imagined Stiles holding him to the windows. But he hadn't held him.

Stiles' mind spun, trying to make sense of everything. The blisters that covered Liam's body, he had done that. But why? How? Was Liam okay? Of course he was, he heals. Stiles heals too. Looking down at his hands, Stiles could see the shadows of blood stains and feral claws. Then the reflection of his face came crashing down on him.

He remembered staring into the glass, his eyes staring back at him. But they weren't Stiles' eyes. No. They were the fox's. Small beads of darkness looked back at him, a wicked smile painted on his face. A mouthful of needle like teeth sent shivers down his spine. Scott's words echoed in his ears, "Stiles this isn't you." He was right, this wasn't Stiles. This was what Stiles had become. 

Then Derek was on him again, his hands cupping his face. He looked at him desperately, "Stiles. Stiles snap out of it." Blinking, Stiles saw the blades of glass rising up from outside the loft, spinning menacingly. With a fearful shriek, they crashed back down into the alley.

"Derek, what's happening to me," Stiles choked, fear overwhelming him. When he looked down at his hands he saw that his claws pertruded his fingers and small, glowing lights shined back at him as he looked into Derek's eyes. He was still shifted, but how?

"Just breathe, Stiles," Derek coached, grabbing Stiles' shoulder. Doing as he was told, Stiles took a deep breath and held it before slowly releasing. He did this several times to no avail. He began to panic again.

"I need to go," Stiles heaved, his fox tearing at he chest. He could feel it, the confusion and pain Derek was feeling. Why? He shouldn't be able to feel that. But then he remembered a particular fox and its choice in consumption.

"Oh my God," he choked. He wasn't just a fox. He was a Nogitsune. His eyes widening, Stiles jumped from the couch, away from Derek. He could feel the fox working to break free, but he wouldn't let it. Stiles wasn't going to let that happen again.

"You need-" Derek started, but then the door to the loft opened and Kira came in with Scott following behind. Immediately Stiles could sense the boy's fear and he could help but relish in it, his mind beginning to cloud over. But then Kira began to speak and he snapped out of it, growling at himself for falling so easily.

"Derek, you need to listen to Scott," Kira snipped, showing a level of fierce determination that was more Lydia than Kira. Derek quirked his eyebrow, looking between an uncomfortable Scott and a defiant Kira.

"Is that so," Derek growled. Seeing Derek become so defensive, Stiles felt himself bristle. His fox did not like when Derek felt threatened. 

"Yes. Derek, I think I can help," Scott interjected. He stepped up next to Kira and held himself tall, showing Derek he wasn't going to back down. "Stiles is my friend and I can help him."

"No. You lost that title when you let him die," Derek snapped. Scott winced before collecting himself.

"Don't say that to me. Don't you dare put that on me," Scott growled. "We were all hurting."

Before Derek could respond, Kira interjected, "Stiles needs all the support he can get."

"You know I'm standing right here, right?" Stiles spoke up, raising his hand. For the first time, he felt like himself, his words dripped with sarcasm. He looked down at his hand and saw the claws had disappeared. With Scott and Derek, he almost felt whole.

Stiles walked forward so he stood next to Derek and looked at Scott before saying, "How can you help me?"

"Stiles, the fox is a dark fox. It craves chaos and the more you give it, the tighter grip it will have on your humanity. I can help you to fight it. I can help you to stay human," Scott explained. His eyes were wide and bright as he told Stiles how much he could help. Scott felt his heart swell. He finally had his friend back.

Nodding his head, Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. The moon was gone and the sun rose over the horizon, casting shadows across Scott's and Kira's face. He felt his fox calm in his soul, a feeling of control returning to his body. His hands stopped shaking as he took a deep breath.

Without saying a word, he pulled Scott into an embrace. A real hug. Scott was shocked at first, but essentially returned it, wrapping his arms around his friend. Stiles felt at ease, calm, and he didn't want to lose it.

From behind him, Derek cleared his throat. Stiles pulled back, slapping Scott's shoulder. Derek opened his mouth to speak but Stiles stopped him, "I don't blame you."

Scott was taken aback, confusion crossing his eyes. Stiles took and breath and continued, "I don't blame you for what happened. I said some horrible things, and I need you to know that I didn't mean it. You're right, it's the fox. It relishes in creating pain and chaos. I was drawing energy from it. Scott, I was trapped in my head for a second time and this was so much worse. I wanted so desperately to break out, to tell you it wasn't true, but the moon-" Stiles stopped, his throat closing with tears filling his eyes. 

"I just- I need help, Scott. I can't- I can't do this again," Stiles croaked. The tears rolled down his face and he tried so hard to hide it. Especially at the sympathetic look Kira was giving him. When Derek tried to lend a comforting hand, Stiles pushed it away before wiping at his eyes.

"Stiles," Scott whispered before pulling his friend into another hug. This one was tight and suffocating, but for the first time, Scott could breathe.

The door to the loft burst open again and Lydia swooped in, breaking the moment. She held her eyes to her phone as she sauntered up to Kira and sighed, "So I heard Stiles is being kept-" Looking up, she saw Stiles still in Scott's arms as they looked at her, his eyes watery and red. "What the hell did I miss?"

 


	17. Derek

Lydia and Kira were both in the kitchen with Stiles and Scott. Stiles sat up on the counter with Lydia sitting next to him, almost in his lap. Derek couldn't help but feel the familiar grip of jealousy at his heart. Shaking his head, he looked up at Scott who leaned against the fridge with his hand resting on Kira's waist. They were all talking about Monday and what they were going to do about a chaos crazed fox in the midst of the most angsty place on the planet.

With a sigh, he shuffled back to his stained couch and sat down, closing his eyes. He tried to ignore their conversation and focused instead on the cool breeze washing over his skin. Maybe he wouldn't replace the wall.

Then his mind wandered back to Stiles, as it seemed to do a lot recently. His wolf was strangely drawn to the dark fox, and he thought maybe it had something to do with his sick fascination with the darkness. After all, he had a fling with Kate Argent.

Had Stiles really forgiven Scott? So easily? Derek knew the boy never blamed Scott, not ever. He knew they had a bond that was stronger than anything he could ever wish for. But the fox. That was going to be a whole other obstacle. The fox was the one who blamed Scott, who tore at Scott's insecurities and used the loss of a loved one against him.

Stiles was beginning to remind Derek a lot of an old tale his mother would tell him and his sister. The story of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". She would tell them about a well respected doctor who battled his own demon known as Mr. Hyde, whom of which craved chaos and loved to inflict it. How he would break free from the chains the doctor worked so hard to contain and reek havoc through the town, then leave good, old Dr. Jekyll to pick up the pieces. 

Suddenly Stiles' words pulled Derek from his thoughts, "How am I supposed to play Lacrosse like this? The whole field is like a sweaty platter of pain and madness."

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Derek interjected, "You won't."

"But Derek! I can make front line with my new abilities. This could be my year to shine," Stiles argued. He jumped down from the counter and stepped forward. Derek stood up from the couch and marched up to the boy. Suddenly his wolf wanted to break Stiles' strong will, to make him bend and break. Shaking his head, Derek snarled.

"You could also kill somebody. The fox has too much control over you," Derek said, waving Stiles off.

Stiles bore holes into Derek's face, then subtly nodded his head, "Fine." Derek could still sense the defiance radiating from Stiles, but he sighed, too tired to argue with the kid.

"I'm going to get some shut eye. Don't burn down the house," he called before disappearing into his bedroom. 

Before he could let his head fall onto the pillow, he heard Stiles snicker, "It's funny because-" Then the slapping sound that indicated Lydia had smacked his shoulder.

Finally the heavy blanket of sleep fell across Derek and he closed his eyes, letting it pull him down into its depths. 

***

_"Derek, I need you to help me," Stiles whispered. Derek's eyes snapped open and he was in his loft, but it was as it had been before Stiles' full moon. The windows were all back in place as well as the sad table. Scanning the room, he couldn't see Stiles but heard his voice._

_"Where are you?" Derek called into the emptiness._

_"Right here," Stiles growled. Then he felt a clawed hand grab his shoulder, spinning him around. Derek came face to face with Stiles' fox, its eyes pulling him in._

_"Stiles," Derek choked. Then he smiled, Stiles' mouth full of teeth and the dark veins gliding up through his face._

_Grabbing his throat, Stiles sunk his claws into the skin and shoved him into the wall, his face inches from Derek's. Derek tried to scream, but his voice was lost. Fear flooded through him and he the pain left him weak. But then he noticed the sickening veins running up through Stiles' arms and then wrapping around his neck. Stiles was feeding on his pain._

_A roaring wind shot through the loft, seemingly coming from nowhere. Chairs slammed into the walls as ghosts danced through the room, sickening laughter sending chills down Derek's spine._

_"You did this to me," Stiles snarled. Then he tore his claws through Derek's neck, tendrils of blood splattering his face._

_Derek gaped a silent scream before falling to his knees. Stiles' wicked laugh echoed through the room as his vision quickly failed him, sending him into a world darkness._

_But before he woke up, Stiles' fox sang, "I will be seeing you sooner that you think, dearest."_

***

Derek shot up from his bed, his claws tearing into his leg and a roar was stuck in his throat. Looking around, he quickly noticed that his loft was left silent, the kids leaving for their homes. Groaning, Derek calmed himself and looked down at his watch. In shock, he checked again. 

"No way," he breathed. Derek quickly saw that he had slept a full seventy-two hours! It was already Monday and it was Stiles' first day back at school as a werefox.

Clambering out of bed, Derek shoved his feet into his scattered boots and shrugged his jacket on over his shoulders, seeing as he had fallen asleep in his clothes. Jumping into his car, he instantly found himself screeching into the parking lot of the Vet's office.

"Deaton!" Derek called as he slammed his door shut. He burst into the Druid's office and was blessed to find it empty of clientele. 

"Mr. Hale, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Deaton sighed, washing a scalpel below gently laying it with two other clones.

"I think something happened," Derek rushed.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, my boy," Deaton said, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

"I mean I think Stiles' fox cast some kind of  _spell_ or something on me." 

"And why would you think such a thing?"

"Because I had a crazy, realistic dream and when I woke up  _three days_ had gone by," Derek stressed, shooting up three fingers to emphasize his point.

"What was the dream about," Deaton soothed, seemingly uninterested. But Derek knew he had the man's attention.

"His fox. It said that it was my fault that Stiles was a werefox and that he would see me soon," Derek explained, skipping the part where Stiles had killed him.

"Interesting," the Druid muttered, turning his full attention to Derek. "Yes, it would seem the boy had cast some sort of illusion on you. Tell me, was he in any sort of stress? Or maybe he seemed angry? Did he shift at all before you went to sleep?"

Derek thought for a moment before slowly nodding his head, "He was mad because I told him he couldn't play Lacrosse. I wasn't really paying attention, I was so tired."

After a moment of silence as Deaton thought, he quickly grabbed Derek by his shoulders and forced him to look him in the eyes, "Derek, it's very important Stiles does not play. Do you understand?"

Shocked by the sudden change of attitude Derek stammered, "Yes, I know. I already told him he could lose-" But Deaton stopped him.

"No, you don't get it. Stiles has absolutely no control at this point. His fox has him locked away, letting Stiles free when it's convenient for  _him_. The dream is a part of something bigger going down here. The fox will play and it will be hell on the field," Deaton rushed, trying to emphasize the importance that Stiles not play. 

"Derek, people will  _die_."


	18. Stiles

Going back to school was a  _really_ bad idea. And Stiles told Scott so.

"Dude, this place stinks with angst. It's putting me on edge," Stiles growled, flaring his eyes to emphasize his point.

"Hey, put those away. Listen, I get it. It was hard for me my first day, but you need to get your shit together," Scott, snapped. They had just walked into the building and Stiles was leaning against Scott's locker, his fists jammed into his jacket pockets. Scott shoved his friend to the side and fiddled with the combination until the locker swung open. "Especially if you're going to play this afternoon."

Just then Lydia swung in, draping her arm over Stiles' shoulder as she looked at Scott and Stiles with mock shock, "You mean to tell me you two are going to deliberately disobey Derek?" Stiles' stomach rolled and twisted at the prospect of going against the older wolf. 

"Shut up, Lydia. It would be social suicide if Stiles quit. Especially with how good he's gotten," Kira chimed, her sweet smell hitting Stiles before her boot into his knee. Swooping down clumsily, Stiles snarled at her playfully before regaining his balance.

"Just.. Don't kill anybody," Lydia sighed. She dropped her arm from his shoulder and turned away from Stiles, her long hair grazing his jaw before she sauntered off to Chemistry. 

Stiles rubbed his neck, the muscles tense before he grumbled, "I wish that was a joke."

"Come on, All Star. Let's get to class," Scott laughed, but there was no humor in it. He knew the danger of letting Stiles play, but he was trying to stay on the fox's good side so he didn't say anything.

Kira fell into step with Scott, trying to secretly slide her hand into his, but Stiles noticed. Today Stiles seemed to notice everything. The suffocating smell of sweat, deadly perfumes, cigarette smoke and the tinge of alcohol. He could hear the smacking of teenagers making out as he passed a custodial closet, the ringing of a cell phone in a locker further down the hall, even a lesson going on in the room Lydia had disappeared into moments earlier. But his advanced eyesight seemed to be giving him the hardest time.

Stiles' perspective was warped dramatically, seeing every grain in the walls or chips on the floor. He could see across the hall and even out the doors, into the parking lot. If he focused he could watch a rundown grey Chevrolet struggle to glide into a parking place. And he couldn't turn it off.

He essentially elected to keep his eyes down, focusing on the scuff marks in the tile as well as the grooves worn into the hard floors. An intense headache was beginning to pound in his ears and behind his eyes, forcing him to take deep, steady breaths. But when Stiles breathed through his nose he was attacked by the sweet, buzzing smell of pain and chaos swirling through the atmosphere. He could feel his fox shudder and keen at the smell, growing stronger and threatening to tear away his grip on his humanity. He took a shallow breath through his gritted teeth.

"Hey, Stiles. You alright man?" Scott barked, pulling him from his thoughts and making him flinch, the sudden sound sending chills through his limbs.

"Peachy," Stiles groaned. He ignored the concern looks shot at him by Scott and Kira, pushing his way into the classroom. Immediately, he was greeted by none other than Coach. Finstock.

"Stilinski! It's nice to see you've decided to join the world of the living after skipping my class three times last week," he barked, his voice loud and Stiles had to pause in the door way, rolling his neck and wincing at the attack.

"Good to be back. You're looking great, Coach," he heaved, making his way to his desk. After taking a seat, he pressed his palms into his eyes, willing the headache away.

"Stiles," Scott whispered. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm _fine_ ," he growled, turning to Scott who's eyes widened.

"You don't look fine. Dude, your eyes. They're glowing."

"No shit, Sherlock. It won't stop." With that, Stiles turned back, keeping his head down.

"What won't?" Scott pressed, leaning forward.

" _Everything_ ," he seethed. It was getting more difficult to hold it back and he knew he was going to lose it. And soon. "The sounds, the smells. Scott, I'm absorbing everything. The madness, it's too much."

"Stilinski! Shut your yapper!" Coach yelled from the front of the room. "I swear you kids are gonna make me start drinking again." 

Suddenly, Stiles gelt the familiar warmth spreading through his body and looking down at his hands he saw the black veins running up his arms. He was absorbing pain, and a lot of it. Where from? But he didn't have time to think about that.

"Coach, I'm going to take Stiles to the nurse," Scott suddenly said, grabbing his shoulders and half dragging him out of the room.

"What the hell for?!" Coach yelled but it was too late. Scott pulled Stiles through the halls until they ducked into the locker rooms, Stiles falling to the ground.

"Scott," Stiles ground out. He could feel the fox tearing at his insides, the claws ripping from his hands and his fangs jabbing into his gums. "I can't hold it back. It hurts too much."

Scott stepped back, giving Stiles space before he suggested, "Then don't. Stiles, you'll never learn control like this. You can't put yourself through this kind of pain. You need to learn to harness the fox, not fight it." 

Growling, Stiles looked up at Scott, his eyes glowing blue but small strands of black tainted the soft color, "You don't understand, Scott. I can't-" But then the darkness swelled into his eyes and Stiles stopped struggling, his muscles relaxing.

"Stiles," Scott wavered, extending his hands between him and Stiles. The boy crouched on the ground, his eyes wandering like it was his first time seeing the locker room. Then a wide smile played on his lips.

"Sweet. The boy has a pet," the fox laughed, his voice gurgling in Stiles' throat.

"What the hell," Scott breathed. He had never seen something like this. Sure, Scott was part wolf and that wolf did have feelings and desires of its own, but it most certainly didn't control Scott like a puppet. He and the wolf were equals, balanced. But this, this was possession.

"Stiles, you need to fight it," Scott pleaded. The fox just chuckled, standing to his feet. He slowly approached Scott, his arms open and relaxed.

" _Stiles_ ," it mocked, expressing a face of pain and miming tears down his face. "You are so pathetic." 

When the fox was close enough that Scott could see every individual freckle on his friend's nose, he let lose a roar before shoving his claws into the thing's chest. Its mouth gaped as Scott slammed him to the ground, growling in its face.

Blood sputtered from his mouth, his eyes wide and Scott was sure he'd reside. But then he started to laugh, the blood staining his teeth red and he grabbed Scott's wrist, slowly pulling his hand from his chest. Scott watched as the flesh and bones mended before he was pushed aside.

Rolling to his feet, Scott crouched down, his teeth bared. He was prepared to fight the fox. With a sly smile and needle like teeth, he ran towards the alpha. Scott swooped to the side, sending him into the wall. Growling, he turned back to Scott but before he could get a hit in, Scott slashed his claws across his face and then punched him in the nose. Blood spurted down Stiles' lips and quilt gripped at Scott's chest but he shook his head, reminding himself that this wasn't Stiles. At least not yet. He promised to help Stiles learn control and he was not going to break that promise.

"Stiles! I know you're in there!" Scott roared, dodging the fox's strike. But then using the momentum, he swung his leg high into Scott's jaw. Pain shot through his face and Scott stumbled backwards.

Stiles watched all of this happen, trapped in his own mind. He felt fuzzy and weak, unclear. He couldn't think and moved as if by pure instinct. He knew he was making noises, but he couldn't make them out. They sounded like guttural roars and growls. Then he heard Scott's voice, ringing in his ears, but he couldn't understand the words.

Without wasting a second, Scott grabbed the his wrist and jerked him forward, then sent his knee into the fox's sternum. A snap resounded through the room, bouncing off the walls and Scott winced. That was going to hurt.

"Stiles!" Scott cried again, trying desperately to break through.

"You think he _wants_ to come out? The boy relishes in the pain I inflict! His blood lust surprises even me," the fox snarled. It had slumped to the ground and was now holding his chest, trying to hide its obvious discomfort. "He's almost worse than I am."

Then Kira burst into the room, the door slamming behind her. Her eyes widened when she saw Stiles on the floor, blood dripping down his face and his dark eyes boring holes into her soul. 

"Ah, the thunder fox has come to play," he wheezed, cackling a wheezing laugh.

She reached for her sword but with a single blink, it went flying from her hand. The sword smashed high up on the wall, glued there. Shocked, Kira looked back down at the fox, its laugh long and breathy.

Taking a deep sigh, it turned back to Scott and said, "I really love this game." Then he jumped to his feet and grabbed a handful of Scott's hair, slamming his head into the bench. Leaning down, it snarled, "Stiles may forgive you for what you've done, but I know you, Scotty. I can see the darkness inside of you and let me say, it's impressive." 

Rearing back a clawed hand, he prepared to end the fight, but then Kira screamed, "Stiles! No!" Pausing, the fox turned back to her and smiled.

"We just don't know when our turn is over, do we?" With that, he dropped Scott and marched to where Kira pressed herself against the lockers. 

"No!" A roar erupted from behind. It stopped it treck and turned. But it was too late.

Scott had shifted completely, his eyes burning red and fur covered his cheeks. He growled and dared the fox to touch Kira. Fear flickered across its features, but only for a second.

"The big bad wolf comes to save the day," it laughed. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, static immediately filling the room. Snapping them open he roared, "This is going to be sooo much _fun_!" Throwing his arms in the air, the lockers all toar away, the metal bending and tearing into fifty blades that hovered in the room, all pointing, not at Scott, but at Kira.

"Stiles! Stop this!" Scott roared, his alpha growl desperate and for the first time, Stiles could hear it. The words. He could hear Scott's pain and desperation and his mind cleared.

He blinked and choked, "Scott?" But then he was pulled back under, waves crashing down over his head as a growl toar through his throat.

"Nice try, _buddy_." Then he snapped his fingers for dramatic effect, really. The blades shot towards the target, Kira's bloodcurdling scream burning Scott's ears. But before they could pierce her skin, they stopped.

"Tell me, Scott. Do you love this girl?" The fox snarled, the smirk making Scott growl. The memory of Stiles roaring at Scott, asking if he loved Allison, flashed in his mind. That was never Stiles. It was the fox. And the fox had a sick sense of humor.

"You _bastard_ ," Scott roared. He charged at the fox, his claws bared. With a bored twist of the wrist, the blades spun away from Kira and shot menacingly at Scott.

"Stiles stop!" A deep cry erupted from the doorway. Turned his head, the fox saw Derek. His hard green eyes bore into Stiles, pleading for him to stop. "Stiles, you can stop this."

The fox smiled, its teeth pink, but the smile was true. The metal crashed to the floor along with Kira's sword. Derek slowly walked further into the locker room until he was standing inches from the fox. Clawed fingers grabbed at the older wolf's jaws, scratching the stubbled skin. Derek froze, his muscles tense but he dared not to flinch.

"You really are pretty. No wonder the boy thinks so highly of you," the fox sighed, his voice mimicking that of Stiles'. Then, to Derek's surprise, bloody lips crashed into his. Both Scott and Kira gasped, stepping back and staring at the scene in shock.

Derek didn't return the kiss, the darkness radiating from Stiles' skin making his own crawl. Pulling away, the fox grinned. 

"That was for him." Then the darkness shrunk away, leaving Stiles' eyes clear and purely Stiles. 

The kid stumbled backwards, his breathing heavy and he slowly came too. Looking around, he noticed the lockers littering the floor and Kira clutching to Scott's shoulders, whom of which was still in alpha mode. Slowly, he looked up at Derek.

"I think you should go," Stiles muttered, his voice raw. Shocked, Derek cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Excuse me?"

"Derek, I said you need to go," Stiles repeated, his voice harder and demanding.

"And why the hell would I do that?" Derek growled. It wasn't a big deal, but his wolf did not like to be bossed around by the fox.

"Because I need to get back to class," Stiles said. If Derek hadn't known any better, he'd think that kid was completely mental. Okay, maybe he did believe Stiles had lost his mind.

"Stiles, is that really-" Scott started but before he could finished, Stiles nodded his head.

"Yep. I feel a lot better now." Stiles' voice was monotone and without his usual spark. It made Derek shuffle his feet. "Thanks for stepping in." And with that, Stiles walked out of the room, heading for his class.

What the hell just happened? Stiles was so lost and confused. One moment he's tearing himself apart and the next he's standing, frozen and numb. It was strange, how empty he felt. He knew he had done something terrible, but he didn't want to know what it was. His limbs were too heavy and his mind was still cloudy. It made him nervous.

Drawn by the smell of blood and the sound of a door swinging open, Stiles looked to his left to see a younger girl slink out of the bathroom. Her hair was stuck to her cheeks with sweat and she had a small tremor running through her. Stiles saw as she slid and small metallic object into her purse and pulled her sleeves down to her knuckles.

Grinding his teeth, he looked down at his own sleeves and pushed them up to his elbows. He could still see the ghosts of the scars that once mutliated his pale skin. Shaking his head, he let his sleeves fall back down to his wrists and watched as the girl disappeared into another classroom further down the hall. The memory of her pain settled into his chest and he relished in the feeling.


	19. Derek and Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo ma dudes! This chapter's going to be a little different than what you've seen before. It's going to focus more on Derek's and Stiles' relationship and the effects the fox has on it. WARNING... sexual content ensues in this chapter.

Derek hadn't been so angry since the Hale fire. He had told Stiles,  _knowing_ the kid wouldn't be able to control himself, not to play. And guess what he did? He fucking played Lacrosse! After he almost killed Kira!

Now he sat on Derek's bed, his legs crossed and eyes closed. He had tissues sticking out of his nose and blood stained his knuckles, the only evidence of having punched the living day lights out of a kid on his team. He  _claims_ the kid had threatened his life, but Derek knew otherwise. He had heard the skip in Stiles' heart when he spat out the lie with such confidence, it seemed that he himself believed it to be true.

"Stiles," Derek said. He was leaning against the door frame and watched as Stiles' took deep breaths, his muscles taught and the claws gliding in and out of his hands.

"I'm trying-" Stiles forced out through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to control him."

"Him?"

Eyes snapping open, Stiles glared at Derek with irises of sapphire. "Yes! Him! The bastard is sitting-" Stiles pressed a clawed finger against his temple. "- in my head."

Derek watched as Stiles' eyes darkened and then with furrowed eyebrows and a strangled growl, the darkness faded away and Stiles let out a heavy breath. Eyelids heavy, he looked at Derek, expecting the wolf to tell him he was being stupid. He  _wanted_ Derek to tell him that it was going to be okay, that Stiles was still Stiles.

"Keep practicing," was all Derek could say. He smelled the sadness and betrayal that filled the boy, but Derek didn't care. He couldn't. He knew the danger Stiles had become and if he gives him even an inkling that what he had become was okay, he would stop trying. And Derek needed him to try.

Pushing himself off of the frame, he turned away from Stiles and walked out, closing the door behind him. But he knew. He knew he was hurting Stiles. He could feel it. He wanted him to comfort him, to tell him he was fine. But Stiles was not fine.

Sighing, he wandered over to the open wall and stepped out onto the small balcony. Derek closed his eyes, pressing his arms into the grainy barrier. Running his fingered through his hair, he shook his head. He didn't know what to do. He was torn in half. His wolf wanted nothing more than to wrap Stiles in his arms and take his pain, take his worries. It hurt him to see Stiles going through it all over again. To have something else ruling his mind. But Derek wouldn't do it. He tells himself he's doing it for Stiles, but he knew better. He knew he was doing for himself. He didn't want to get hurt.

Stiles was a fox. "And you have to learn not to trust a fox. Because they're trickster. They'll fool you. They'll fool everyone." The words screamed through Derek's mind. The anger boiled up before Derek could do anything to stop it. With a strangled howl, he slammed his fist into the brick. Pain shot through his arm and he pulled back, seething as the torn flesh slowly healed.

"This is so fucked up."

***

Stiles couldn't believe what was happening. Derek was giving up on him. He saw the way he looked at him, like he was a murderer. A psychopath ready to snap. And maybe he was right. Maybe Stiles should stop trying to fight the fox. Give Derek what he wants. With that thought he heard a sickening laugh scream through his ears. It would be so easy.

He could slowly feel his control slipping, wanting to hold on just a little longer. He closed his eyes and gripped at his knees, the claws sinking into the skin and muscle. But he didn't care. If Derek wanted a monster, he would give it to him.

"Stiles, I-" Derek started, opening the door but it was too late. Opening his eyes, Stiles was surprised. He could see Derek, clearly. His mind was clear and when he lifted his hands, he saw them move. He was in control of the fox.

A laugh cackled through his ears again, cooing, "Congratulations dear boy. You've done more than _control_ me. You have become me. The darkness. By now!"

Fear gripped at his chest. How is this possible?

"Derek," Stiles choked, looking up at the wolf. He could hear the weakness in his voice, the fear dripping from his words, but he didn't care. He needed Derek.

"Stiles!" Derek roared, rushing over to the side of the bed. He grabbed Stiles' face in his hands, searching his eyes. Stiles new what he saw. He felt it soaring through his system. The darkness.

"The fox. He's gone. It's me, Derek. I'm the darkness," Stiles cried, tears dripping down his cheeks. But when Derek swiped at a tear, his finger came back red with blood.

"It's okay. You're going to be okay. This is good. Stiles, this is good. You are good," Derek soothed, his words soft and true. Stiles could hear it in his heart. A small smile tore at his lips, warmth spreading through his chest.

Stiles could stile feel the beast nuzzling in his chest. He knew it would always be there. Just like Scott's and Derek's wolves. But what he hadn't expected was the way his fox purred and reached out for the older wolf. Without thinking, Stiles reached out a clawed hand, the tears halting at the emotional dam. He ran his fingers through the soft tufts of hair on his head, a sense of calm spreading through his body.

"When did you become so beautiful," Stiles whispered, mostly to himself. But he knew Derek had heard it. The wolf pulled back, confusion flickering across his gaze. 

Before he could move further, Stiles grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer to him. He pressed his nose against Derek's neck, inhaling deeply. A fuzzy, giddy feeling ran down his spine when the scent of fresh pine and salty sweat filled his senses. His fox rolled and growled at the scent. Then a single thought flooded his mind. Derek.

***

What the hell? Derek wanted to pull back, to tell Stiles that he was delirious. But a strange heat pooled through his chest, and he growled to himself. He knew this feeling, but he should not be feeling it with Stiles. His wolf wanted the boy.

Stiles scented Derek and it took every ounce of control for him not to pounce the boy. His wolf snarled and pulled, tearing at Derek's chest to get closer to the fox. But he didn't understand. Foxes and wolves don't mix. But Derek's wolf was different. Derek's wolf loved the darkness, craved it. That's what seemed to get Derek into the most trouble. 

His scent wafted into Derek's senses as Stiles pulled closer, his nose rubbing the stubble under his jaw. The boy smelled of lemon grass and something sweet that the wolf couldn't place. When Stiles pulled away, Derek could see the way his eyes shined at him and it made his wolf purr. 

"Stiles, you don't want to do this," Derek growled, not able to stop the huskiness that crept into his voice. With a mischievous smirk that could only be assigned to Stiles, he grabbed Derek's shoulders and with a surprising show of strength, he pulled the wolf onto the bed behind him.

"The hell I don't," he growled, his eyes flashing brighter. Derek knew that look. It was the look of an animal calling to its mate. Stiles' fox and calling to his wolf. Derek's wolf finally snapped, its need for the fox, the darkness, swallowing Derek whole. 

With a furious growl, Derek flipped Stiles over so the boy was pushed deep into the mattress. He bit and sucked at his neck, looking for the sensitive spot that made the fox bare his neck. Derek pressed his tongue against the soft skin and smiled against his neck when Stiles lifted his hips against Derek's.

Derek was in serious trouble.

***

Stiles was more animal than man at this point. His claws dug into Derek's shoulders as the wolf nuzzled at his pulse. His fox was craving the wolf, and it left Stiles' mind reeling.

He had imagined Derek making love to him, occasionally fucking his brains out, even making out with him against a tree, sure. But Stiles never expected it to become a reality. His fox had a lot more guts that he did. Or maybe it's the darkness that made him reckless. Either way, Stiles was going to relish this and he was going to do it _his_ way.

"I don't think so, tough guy," Stiles growled. With a swift movement, he was straddling Derek's hips and the wolf had his back pressed into the bed. "It's my turn to be in control."

Derek couldn't stop the groan that forced itself from his lips. Stiles' confidence and predatory behavior was new and it was a dangerous addition to the boy's already obscenely sexy features. The only reason Derek hadn't jumped him in the past was due to his fear of being shot down. That was out the window.

Stiles could smell the arousal building inside of Derek and it made him smile. Derek was his.

Teeth nipping at his earlobes, Derek shivered, neck tiliting to the side to let Stiles continue his workings. Mouthing at the stubbled skin, his teeth and tongue worked deep bruises into the skin. Stiles watched in slight disappointment as they vanished in seconds, but regardless it had Derek all but panting in his ear and holding the fox's biceps. Stiles smirked, grinding his hips against Derek's, the pace near insatiable.

Insatiable.

Shaking the dark fox's bandaged face from his mind, Stiles pulled back so there was a small bit of space between them. It was quite the distraction. 

Derek's face was flushed, his pupils swallowing his irises. Stiles could feel his own arousal in a rush of heat through his body. To have effected Derek in such a way made him growl out loud, the control sending a rush through his system. He could most definitely get used to this.

"You're wasting time," Derek growled, his eyes flashing the blue of a killer. An interesting combination it was, a murderer with his dark fox.

"Shut up," Stiles snapped, crashing his lips onto Derek's. But he understood, could feel Derek's bulge pressing abscenely against his own.

Making quick work of the man's belt and pants, they broke apart, foreheads pressed together. Stiles wormed his hand into Derek's pants, cupping his hard on. Derek let out a guttural moan and arched into the touch. Stiles laughed almost menacingly and gave him a playful squeeze.

"Stiles," Derek gasped. He tugged harshly at the sheets, knuckles straining white for control as his fingers ached from the continuous grip.

"I said no talking," Stiles growled, pulling his hand from the wolf's pants. Stiles knew Derek would want control, would want to dominate the boy, but Stiles was not about to give up control. Not again.

Derek forcibly relaxed after several long breaths. Stiles smirked, he knew he had him.

Nipping at his ear, Stiles whispered, "Ready for the main event?"

***

_"Ready for the main event?"_

At those words, Derek's eyes opened and he suddenly felt that there were too many clothes on both of their bodies. Desperately, he tore open the flannel that hid Stiles' porceline abs and tossed it to the floor. Stiles laughed, the sound sending chills through Derek, and did the same for the wolf.

Derek couldn't tear his eyes away from Stiles' body, the way the muscles rippled with every movement. But Stiles didn't give him enough time to ogle. 

Stiles slid down Derek's body, pressing his tongue down against the man naval and then slowly gliding it upwards to the dip in his collarbone. Derek's erection was becoming painful in his jeans, begging for release. Precum slowly slid down his legs and the smell was almost blinding, so he knew Stiles could smell it.

Derek wanted to do anything but be quiet. He wanted to growl and snarl at his lover, tell him how beautiful he is, but he could see the need for control shining in the fox's eyes. He knew he could easily take over and have his way with the smaller Stiles, but he refrained. All he had to do was focus.

He just had to keep his mind occupied with things not related to things that had do to with Stiles, Stiles' tongue, or even... Stiles' tongue flicking at his nipples.

"Hnnnng-" the wolf's claws ripped into the sheets and his eyes flashed, but that didn't stop Stiles from clamping his hand over his mouth, the groan becoming muffled.

Without saying a word, Stiles grazed his teeth against Derek's chest, his hot breath hitching Derek's own air travel. Derek, to convey his need for Stiles to get a move on, thrust his hips up into Stiles'. Then, with no warning, Stiles growled and slid down to Derek's ankles, pulling his jeans down with him.

Seeing the tenting of Derek's boxers, Stiles smirked and pressed his lips against the tip. That one, small touch made Derek choke and his muscles to tense. Stiles slid his long fingers under the waist band and slid them down until Derek's member tore free.

A guttural growl sounded from Stiles and it made Derek's cock twitch. Stiles pressed his lips against the tip and then, with his tongue flicking at the slit, slid down the member until it hit the back of his throat.

Derek punched at the bed, his heels digging into the mattress and he stared up at the ceiling. His nerves were on hyperdrive and with Stiles' mouth on his cock he felt like he was going to black out.

How the hell did he get to this point? One minute Stiles is fighting a trigger happy fox inside of his head, and the next he's sucking Derek off. It was almost sick, but Derek was drawn to the boy's dark side.

Stiles bobbed his head, sliding his tongue around the shaft and pressing into the tip. The warm saliva combined with the deliberate movements sent Derek racing for his climax. He could feel the familiar warmth pooling into his gut and the tensing of his muscles.

Derek abruptly reached out and fisted Stiles' sweaty hair, pulling aggressively. He knew it was painful, but that didn't stop him. He was so close, he knew it. And then Stiles' stopped.

The fox pulled away and kneeled over Derek, staring the man in the eyes as he undid his belt, sliding it out of the small loops and dropping it to the floor. He popped over the buckle to his jeans and Derek watched as he pulled those down with his boxers, both settling onto the pile of discarded clothing.

Derek swallowed hard, his mouth dry. Stiles was thick, thicker than him. He could see the precum dripping from the boy's tip and how hard he was. Smirking, Stiles reached down and grabbed at his legs, throwing them over his shoulders. Derek knew what was coming, but man was he not prepared.

Stiles stared at Derek, not taking his eyes off of him as he stuck three fingers into his mouth, wetting them. The seductive look Stiles shock down at Derek made his leaked cock twitch again and Stiles smile. With a soft, pop, Stiles pulled his fingers from and mouth and lowered them down to Derek's screaming hole. 

Slowly, he inserted one finger, curling it and moving it in a come hither motion. Then, without warning, he inserted two more, all three fingers scissoring and prepping Derek for the inevitable.

Heaving, Derek muttered, "You act like you've done this before." Stiles paused, looking at Derek searchingly, then chuckled. 

"That's for me to know," Stiles growled, pulling his fingers away. He then lined himself up and slowly, inch by inch, slid into Derek. "And you to find out."

Derek moaned out in surprise, loudly, and Stiles' cock slammed the rest of the way with one quick motion. With no warning, Stiles started a brutal rhythm of deep thrust, pressing his chest to Derek's. He snarled and pulled at Derek's hair, forcing his neck open for Stiles and graze his fangs against the slick skin before settling against his lips.

Once Derek's gasping grew in volume, muffled only by Stiles' lips, he released his mouth and trailed his wet fingers down the man's chest, caressing his collar bones. He then raking his claws nails lightly across Derek's chest, leaving small beads of blood, before sweeping over his nipples.

Derek mewled at the barely there touch, but choked when only one was sharply pinched, his cock twitching with the need to cum after being left cold. Derek was too far gone to stop him, twisting both nipples harshly, and thrusting straight onto his prostate.

Derek howled as he came, cum shooting up his chest. Stiles smiled, still pounding into him at a brutal pace until his rhythm faltered and he shuddered with his own climax. Stiles' eyes flared and he bit down, his fangs sinking deep into Derek's shoulder. Finally, coming down from his high, Stiles slid out of Derek and fell limp at his side.

"I really like foxes," Derek heaved, still trying to catch his breath. Stiles looked over at the wolf and laughed, baring his fanged teeth.

***

Stiles took deep breaths as he tried to recuperate. What the actual hell? He had just fucked Derek Hale. And he did a pretty damn good job.

With a sigh, Stiles slung his arm over the side of the bed and grabbed the first thing he could, which happened to be Derek's deep, gray t-shirt. Without saying a word, Stiles wiped the fabric across Derek's smooth, defined abs, clearing away the wolf's cum. Balling up the shirt, he mimicked shooting for a basketball goal and tossed it to the other side of the room.

With a couple more deep breaths, Stiles sighed, "Some anchor I've got." Then he closed his eyes, listening to Derek's heavy heart and felt himself falling into a deep sleep with the smell of sex stuck in his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your dedication and commentary as well as kudos! You are the bread and butter of this work and I couldn't do it without you. I hope you enjoyed a bit of Sterek, trust me. There is more to come!


	20. Scott

Scott stared numbly at the stupid history textbook splayed out on his desk. It was late and he was so tired his eyes couldn't focus on the blurry words, his head thumping. Who even understands this crap?

With an irritated growl, Scott snapped closed the book and elected to go to shut down for the night. But, of course, before he could clamber into bed, a heavy knock sounded on his window.

"Coming!" Scott called. "Stupid werewolves can't even use a door." But to the teen's surprise, Stiles' face smushed against the glass, his skin flat and reminded Scott of putty.

Scott shot the window up, not giving Stiles enough time to pull his face away. Yelping, Stiles rubbed his raw, pink cheek and stared at Scott like he had just kicked Stiles' puppy.

"What do you want Stiles?" Scott huffed. Stiles just shook his head and clambered through the window, his new abilities obviously not improving his ever present grace. With a groan, Stiles stumbled through the small space and sprawled across Scott's floor.

With a sigh, Scott pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it into a growing pile of stench. For a moment, he felt the chill of someone staring at his muscled back, but he shook his head and the feeling went away.

"Dude, we need to talk," Stiles huffed, pushing himself up off the floor.

"Now? Can't this wait til tomorrow? It's two o'clock in the morning."

"I know. I know. But _Scott_ ," Stiles started, cutting himself off to swallow before continuing. "Something happened last night."

"Seriously? Why couldn't you tell me this earlier today?" Scott snapped, irritation evident in his voice as he pulled on a clean t-shirt and a pair of soft, pajama pants.

" _Because_ , Scotty, it was supernatural _related_ and I didn't want to talk about it at school," Stiles stressed, leaning forward and jerking his hands around violently.

"Dude, we always talk about this stuff at school. Why is this any different?"

"Scott! If you'd just shut up I could've told you already," Stiles groaned, falling back on Scott's bed just as he was about to climb under the covers.

"Seriously? Really mature," Scott huffed, sitting on the edge and glaring at his friend. After a moment of silence, Scott finally gave in.

"Fine. What is it?"

Stiles shot up in a sitting position and his face broke out into a huge smile. Then, his eyes flashed blue and fangs filled his mouth. With a clawed hand, he slapped Scott's shoulder and stuttered excitedly, "The fox is gone. _He's_ gone. It's me! I won!"

But Scott didn't smile or congratulate his friend. Sure, he was happy for the boy, but seriously?

"Stiles! I swear to God! It is _two o'clock in the morning_! Go home!" He reached down and grabbed Stiles by the collar of his blue t-shirt and pulled him out of the bed. But his smile didn't go away.

Stiles just stood by the side of the bed and watched as Scott climbed under the covers, pulling them up to his chin. Closing his eyes, Scott hoped that Stile would get the message and leave, but he could still smell him standing there. Staring.

"I swear, dude. If you don't go home I will drag your ass out of my house," Scott groaned. With a sigh, he rolled onto his side and stared at his wall, praying for Stiles to leave.

"There's something else," Stiles finally chirped, breaking his creepy ass silence.

"What," Scott grumbled, his voice muffled by his pillow. Scott could smell the nervousness radiating from Stiles' pores mixed with excitement and a small hint of fear. But before he could say something about it, Stiles spat.

"I fucked Derek!"

Dead silence. Scott didn't move, trying to process what Stiles had just told him. Then, the weight of his word hit him and he shot out of bed, slamming Stiles against the wall and listening to his heart.

"What do you mean, you fucked Derek?" Scott asked, almost not wanting to know. A pink blush spread across the boy's cheeks and his heart escalated extensively. So really, if he'd been lying, Scott wouldn't have been able to tell. But by the looks of it, he was damn sure that the boy was telling the truth.

"I mean, I stuck my dick in-" Stiles started, his usual sarcasm evident, but Scott stopped him by clamping his hand on his friend's mouth.

"That's enough. Don't need to know," Scott sighed, dropping his hand and stepping aside. "Why?"

"Why did I fuck Derek? Well, Scott, when one dude loves another dude," Stiles started again but Scott stopped him. Again.

"No! I meant, why do you feel the need to tell me this?" Scott muttered. Turning away, he ran his fingers through his hair. 

Scott knew Stiles' preferences. Practically everybody did, even Danny. Especially Danny. Lydia knew from the beginning and would consistently shoot the boy down, trying to save his dignity as well as her own. There's nothing fun about a girl dating a gay dude. But Stiles tried anyways, until he finally decided that it wasn't Lydia's body that he was attracted too, but her mind. Her kindness. Her compassion. Stiles didn't love Lydia, he admired her.

"Did you miss the part where I said it was _Derek Hale_? You know, emotionally constipated, sourwolf, Derek. Dude, I made the guy _scream_ ," Stiles huffed, his eyes bright and animated.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You can't just tell people things like that!" Scott barked, not able to hide the laughter filtering into his voice. Shaking his head, Scott pushed Stiles forward until he was leaning out the window.

"Good night Scotty!" Stile called, clambering out the window and sliding down the roof. Scott chuckled to himself when he heard the heavy thud and groan from his friend as he fell to the ground.

Turning back to his bed, Scott just sighed and slid back under the covers. He stared up at his ceiling, his hand behind his head and he laughed. 

"Stiles, you sick son of a bitch."


	21. Derek And Stiles

"You did _WHAT_?!" Derek roared, his fist slamming into the wall by Stiles' head. Stiles had just gotten home after sneaking out, thinking Derek wouldn't notice. The kid needs to stop staying the night at Derek's loft if he's just going to clamber, very loudly might he add, over the terrace and crash into the alley lined with glass and broken wood. 

"I told Scott," Stiles shot back. He tried to force a sense of confidence into his words but Derek could see the fear in his eyes and his voice came out meek. Good.

"And why the hell would you do that?" Derek spat, forcing himself into Stiles' personal space. Derek had spent his life building an impenetrable wall around him, not letting anyone close enough to so much as dent the barrier. And now Stiles has burned the whole thing to the ground. Having never been with a man, Derek felt a serious sense of betrayal and almost pain roaring through him. Derek had to remind himself that Stiles was still a stupid, hormonal teenager and that it was only a matter of time before he blabbed his mouth to the world about the affair. 

"Why are you so angry? I did nothing wrong!" Stiles yelled back. Derek could see the fear immediately replaced with anger and even confusion. Stiles stared into Derek's eyes, searching.

"Because you didn't even talk to me about it first! Do you understand what this could do to me?" 

"No! I don't understand, Derek! I don't understand how what we have here could possibly hurt you. How is this any different from Jennifer? Or any of the other many women you took to bed! You know, the psycho bitches who tried to _kill_ the pack!" Stiles roared. Derek watched as the anger rose in the kid and his own rose as well. Stiles had no right to be angry. Derek was the one who was betrayed, wounded. 

"This is not the same Stiles!" Derek spat back, his eyes flashing for enforcement. Stiles flinched, but only a little before snarling.

"How?" Derek was silent, his gut curdling. Finally, he took a deep breath and said so quietly, as of a couple weeks ago, Stiles wouldn't have been able to hear.

"Because I don't feel the same way about you as I did for those women."

Stiles' face fell and all of his anger evaporated. A heavy weight fell on Derek's chest and he watched the light fade from Stiles' eyes. And that's when he realized what he'd just said.

"No, Stiles. It's not what you think," Derek said desperately. He dropped his fist from the wall and held his palms against the boy's cheeks. His skin had paled dramatically and the pure look of pain made Derek cringe.

"Yes, it is. It's okay, Derek. I get it. It was a mistake. All of it. I'm sorry," Stiles choked, a tear escaping and rolling until it absorbed into Derek's skin on Stile's jaw.

"Stiles, please. Listen to me," Derek pleaded, turning Stiles' face until he was forced to look at Derek. Then, Derek's heart clenched when he saw the boy's beautiful, golden eyes darkened into a blue that made Derek want to drown in them. The tears started to fall faster and Stiles' face contorted into a look of pure pain and betrayal. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Stiles heaved through his swollen throat. Derek watched his chest cave and he felt helpless and desperate. He hadn't meant...

"Stiles, no. Don't be sorry. Never be sorry," Derek barked, his voice level and serious. The tone must've gotten Stiles' attention because he looked but up at Derek and his featured relaxed.

"Kiss me," Stiles ordered, all weakness gone from his words. With clawed fingers, Stiles gripped Derek's shoulder with one hand and the other grabbed the back of his neck. With a force only Stiles' could've conveyed, he pulled Derek close until their foreheads touched and his nose brushed Stiles'.

Without hesitating, Derek pressed his firm lips against Stiles' rough mouth. Stile swiped his tongue against Derek's teeth until he parted lips willingly and Stiles battled with Derek's. With a deep growl, Stiles pushed himself away from the wall and spun, slamming Derek's back into the brick.

Derek didn't know what to think. Part of him, the wolf, didn't want to think. Wanted him to take what Stiles' was dishing out and let the boy take him as he'd done last night. But he was confused and angry. He didn't want Stiles the way his wolf did. At least he didn't think he did.

"Derek," Stiles growled, pulling away. Opening his eyes, Derek understood why. "I need you to stop whatever it is you're doing."

Stiles' eyes burned black holes into Derek's, his beautiful face mutilated by the gruesome tendrils of darkness. Derek could almost see the bliss in the way Stiles mouth was parted and he stood, relaxed in Derek's arms. Derek looked down at the hand digging into his flesh and his eyes widened when he saw the same veins littering the boy's arms.

"What are you doing?" And when the words left his mouth, he felt a calming sensation wrap around his body like a blanket. Any feelings of fear and confliction washing away.

"Feeding," Stiles grunted. Then he slammed his lips back against Derek's and pulled the wolf closer, this time rubbing his hips into Derek. With a small smirk he pulled away. "And I _really_ like it."

Stiles pushed Derek so hard into the wall he knew his shoulder blades were bruised and slowly fighting to heal. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, kissing and biting the skin until blood fell onto Derek's tongue. Derek glided his fingers through Stiles' hair, pulling and twisting the locks until Stiles' hissed in pain. 

Dropping his hands to Derek's waist, Stiles slid his cold fingers under Derek's shirt and carved his claws up the wolf's back, leaving thick, sticky trails of blood. With a grunt, Derek growled, "You owe me a new shirt."

Stiles chuckled and stopped at the back of Derek's collar, his fingers peeking out over the fabric. Derek could feel the tensing of the fox's muscles before he tore the shirt all the way through and tossed it to the floor.

"I don't think so," Stiles growled, his voice deeper and sounding like he'd gargled asphalt.

Derek pulled away to do the same for Stiles but paused. Stiles had fed off of so much of Derek's strife, it looked like his body was trying to find a way to release it.

A dark haze had fallen over the loft and in the middle of the room, all Derek could see was the Hale house in all its glory. Children ran out the door, giggling and cheering as they chased each other down the steps and around the house. Derek's mother, Talia, leaned against a post and smiled a soft smile as she watched the children, her children, play. With a howl, Derek watched as the little girl trampled the boy, holding him to the ground with glowing eyes and a smile full of fanged teeth.

_"I win!"_  A sweet voice echoed through the room. Derek could only feel the ghost of Stiles' face in his neck, kissing and sucking the skin.

With a small nip at Derek's jaw, the scene changed drastically. The house erupted into flames and Derek watched as his mother disappeared into the house. The kids screamed, a horrific wail, and ran into the woods. Then a man appeared, Peter, and he howled in pain. With a desperate wail, he ran into the burning building and Derek watched in terror as it crashed to the dirt.

Roaring, Derek threw Stiles off of him and fell to his knees. He felt his chest constrict as he relived the death of his family.

***

Stiles was pushed away from Derek and for a moment he felt hurt, but then he watched as Derek collapsed to the ground, staring ahead. Turning around, he saw what the wolf did. The Hale fire.

"Oh no," Stiles breathed. Looking down at his hands, he knew what was happening. He was feeding off of Derek's feelings and was releasing the chaos and pain in the form of an illusion.

"Come on, Stilinski. You can stop this. You have too," Stiles growled to himself, focusing on trying to stop the illusion. He stared at the pain and tears streaking down Derek's face and it hurt him as much as it brought him pleasure. And for that, he hated himself.

"STOP!" Stiles finally roared. In a desperate move, he sunk his claws into his stomach and focused on his own pain and strife. But that was a mistake.

***

The illusion disappeared and Derek blinked, staring into the open loft. Then a strangled scream pulled him from his daze. Turning around, Derek saw Stiles slumped to the ground with his hands dug into his abdomen and blood poured onto the floor. But that wasn't the worst part.

A swirling, angry aura slashed around the fox. It looked like a physical representation of all of the pain, chaos, and strife Stiles had managed to absorb since becoming a fox and it was crushing him.

"Stiles! What did you do?!" Derek screamed, running to the boy's side. He pulled Stiles' hands away from his body and slowly lowered him to the ground. Blood spurted from his lips and he groaned, the storm crashing through his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean too. Your family-" Stiles choked, more blood drooling from the corner of his mouth and dripping from his nose.

"That wasn't my question, damn it! What did you do!" Derek roared. He needed to know what had happened so he could some how undo it.

"I was trying to stop the incantation by-" Stiles wheezed and then broke out into a coughing fit. "I focused on my own pain. I think- I think I turned it in on myself."

"Well then stop it!" Derek pleaded. The storm whirled and crashed around them, cutting at Derek's skin and pulling itself from Stiles' body. Derek watched as the hole closed itself and the blood stopped flowing, but Stiles' vacant look in his eyes didn't go away. 

Stiles was trapped in his own darkness and it was consuming him. He had tried to save Derek from his pain by bringing his own to the surface and it released a cyclone. Derek never knew the boy had so much contained inside of him.

"I can't," Stiles muttered, his voice weak but heavy. It sent vibrations through Derek's bones and he could hear it echoing through the room. Derek knew if he didn't do something he was going to lose Stiles to the boy's demons.

"Yes, you can. Because you're Stiles Stilinski. Skinny, defenseless, Stiles," Derek tried to joke. But then he became serious. "But you're so much more. You are a believer. You are funny and you love your friends, even when they turn their back on you. You are selfless and strong. You're a hero, Stiles. My hero. And I love you."

Nobody said a word, until finally Stiles looked at Derek and smirked, "You love me?" Derek didn't try to stop his wide, goofy smile. A tear of relief broke free from his eye and he nodded his head.

"I love you, Stiles. I love you so much and I need you to know that you are more than the darkness inside of you. You are better. You are better than me. You're better than the fox. And you're better than the Nogitsune. Stiles, you are a fighter, a warrior. And for that, I couldn't help but fall in love with you." As Derek said the words, it suddenly crashed down on him that he meant it. Every word. He was in love with Stiles Stilinski, whether he wanted to be or not.

With a small smile, Stiles forced through labored breaths, "I love you too, Derek Hale."

A suffocating silence fell through the loft as the monster stopped its disastrous course, frozen in mid air like a paused film. Then, with a shaking gasp from Stiles, Derek watched as the prickling darkness turned and shot back down into Stiles' body. 

The hole in Stiles' stomach tore open and the beast clawed its way back inside its host. Derek tried to comfort the boy, holding down his shoulders and rubbing his thumbs in circles over the sweaty skin as he screamed and cried. His back arched and he slammed his head repeatedly into the floor, begging for it to stop and bloody tears poured down his face, a heartbreaking sideffect of the darkness. 

It seemed to go on forever, the desperate roars and claws scraping into the concrete. Stiles looked like a child, the cries heavy and full of fear. Derek wiped desperately at the tears and had to fight his own at the screams.

Finally, with a sickening squelch and Stiles slamming his fist so hard into the ground Derek's heard the bones crack, it was over. The hole healed and Stiles' screams stopped. In fact, everything about Stiles stopped.

"Stiles," Derek whispered, leaning over the boy. He patted Stiles face, looking for a reaction. Nothing. Focusing, Derek could hear a heartbeat but it was weak and stuttering. He knew the boy would heal, but a sense of dread still gripped at his chest.

"Come on. Let's get you to Deaton," Derek muttered. Scooping Stiles into his arms, Derek left the loft and prayed his deepest fear wouldn't be made a reality. That Stile Stilinski was losing his humanity. 


	22. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I hope you guys are loving the story so far! I'm personally having so much fun with Dark Stiles and I hope you love him as much as I do. Prepare yourselves, a new baddie is coming into town and Stiles is finally going to get a chance to prove that he's worth saving.
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments! I love them all! It makes me so happy to know your thoughts, positive or otherwise! Have a fantabulous day and keep reading!

"Mr. Hale. I'm beginning to dread your visits," Deaton sighed, looking up from Scott, whom of which had his fingers submerged into the stomach of a small puppy. 

"Sorry, but this is important," Derek snapped, the desperation pulling Scott's attention from he open surgery. Looking up, his brows creased with concern at the unconscious Stiles in Derek's arms.

"Always is. What is it, my boy," Deaton said. He gestured to the couch in the waiting room and Derek nodded, laying Stiles across it. Derek will always appreciate Deaton's policy of cutting the bullshit and getting the facts.

"Stiles. I think he's losing," Derek said, sitting on the couch with Stiles' head resting on his lap. He slid his fingers through the boy's hair, the soothing action calming his racing heart.

"Losing? How so?" Scott asked as he inserted a needle into the puppy's open wound to begin a neat series of stitches. 

"I'm not sure. We were arguing and he started to feed off of the strife. Then he accidentally cast an illusion and when he tried to stop it... I don't know. It's like the darkness inside of him tore free," Derek explained, his fingers moving in small circles over the boy's soft skin.

"Hmmm. Yes, foxes of his nature have the ability to cast illusions as well as practice telekinesis and even inflict natural disasters such as disease and injury. Our very own, Liam Dunbar, is very familiar with this. In Japanese folklore the fox spirit is often blamed for many natural disasters, the most painful and impacting often pinned on the dark fox. Stiles will have to learn to control such abilities," Deaton said. He turned away from Derek and helped Scott carry the pup to an open crate and gently laid him inside. "Tell me about his eyes."

Derek looked up, confusion written on his face. "What about them?"

"Well, you've seen first hand his shift," Deaton pressed, leaning against the table and looking down at Derek with curious eyes.

"They are a dark blue, much darker than that of a werewolf. But," Derek started but paused, looking down at Stiles' sleeping features. Deaton cleared his throat for him to continue. Sighing, Derek shook his head. "When he gets really into it, like, almost scary, they turn black. And that's been bad things start to happen."

"What sort of bad things?" 

"Dark things. He becomes a new person. It's like he _enjoys_ what he's doing, like it's all a game to him. Today they turned when he started feeding and then cast the illusion." 

"Derek, you may not want to answer this, but it's very important you think very hard about your answer," Deaton finally said after a long silence. His stomach churning, Derek slowly nodded his head.

"Do you believe Stiles is dangerous?" Struck, Derek's eyes widened as he looked hard at Deaton.

"Of course he's dangerous. And so am I. And Scott. All of us. He just needs practice and control and he'll be fine," Derek said defensively. Deaton just sighed and looked down at the ground, shaking his head and lifting his hands in a form of surrender.

"I know Mr. Hale. I know you believe that, but Stiles is not like the rest of you. If it wasn't Stiles we were talking about-" Deaton paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If it wasn't Stiles, would you see him as the enemy?"

Derek was shocked, gaping at Deaton. He had come here for help, and now Deaton was implying that Stiles was the enemy? The Stiles was evil? Sure, the boy had darkness inside of him, but so did Derek. He needed Deaton's help to save Stiles from that evil, not condemn him.

"No. I would see a boy struggling with his demons and I would try to save him, not stand back and let him burn," Derek snapped. His anger was rising and he glared at Deaton.

"Derek, he meant nothing by it," Scott interjecting, recognizing the look of death Derek was shooting. 

"The hell he didn't! He just tried to tell me that Stiles was my _fucking enemy_!" Derek roared. He fought his instinct to jump up and punch the Druid in the face.

"You need to calm down, boy," Deaton soothed, his tone tight.

"Calm down? Don't tell me to calm down!" Derek growled, becoming more furious by the second. "I came here for help! I need you to save him!"

"Derek," Scott pressed, suddenly noticing the tension in Deaton as he stared at the couple on the couch. He could sense the static in the air and it made the hairs on his neck stand.

"Save him from _what_?" Deaton snapped, his volume still low but his tone sharp. 

"Save him from himself! You have to do something!" 

"I can't, Derek!"

"Yes you can! You just won't! You'd rather sit back and let him be consumed by the darkness so you can put him down like a dog!"

"That is not true and you know it!"

"Do I?" Derek yelled. "Because I won't let-" 

Then suddenly all of the animals in the back started barking and howling, cats kissing. The sound of bodies slamming into the metal crates made the three men look up. With a hard look, Deaton jerked his thumb for Scott to check it out. Nodding, the alpha turned on his heels and ran back. 

"What the hell is going on," Derek snapped, the anger not ebbing away. Then he felt it, the familiar warmth spreading through his chest.

Looking down, Derek saw that Stiles still had his eyes closed but black veins crawled across his skin as he fed from the strife in the room.

"Shit," Derek muttered as Scott came back in, his hands shaking.

"We have a serious problem," Scott choked.

"What is it?" Deaton said, his voice calmer now.

Shaking his head, Scott squeezed his eyes shut. "You'll have to come see for yourself." 

With a sigh, Derek slid out from underneath Stiles and followed Deaton to the back where he saw what looked like a slaughterhouse.

Dogs and cats of all sizes had slammed themselves so hard and repeatedly into the bars and the walls that they'd essentially beaten themselves to death. Blood and corpses filled the cages and the smell of death made Derek want to gag. Stiles did this.

"Stiles," Deaton snapped, turning and marching back into the operating room. But when he got there, a man stood over a still sleeping Stiles.

"Hello boys! I hope you don't mind me dropping by. Had to pick me up a fox," the man chirped. He was tall and slender, though had a muscular build that reminded Derek of a swimmer or gymnast. His dark, brown eyes sent shivers down Derek's neck and his smile looked so fake Derek had to stop himself from punching it off his face. Sighing at the silence, he ran his spindly fingers through his muddy brown hair. Something about his smell made Derek feel uneasy.

"Not the talking bunch. I understand. I'll just take what I need and be on my way," he sighed. With that, he leaned down and lifted Stiles up from the couch with ease, tossing him over his shoulder like a rag doll.

"Don't you dare," Derek growled, darting forward. But when he tried to grab Stiles from the stranger's arms, the man shot his hand up and around Derek's neck, stopping him in his tracks.

"Down dog," he snarled. Then, to Derek's surprise, he fucking hissed and his eyes flashed red. A twin pair of thin fangs shot into his smile and he slammed Derek into the ground with a surprising amount of strength.

"No way," Scott breathed, taking a small step back. Looking up, the man laughed and winked.

"That's right, sweetness. The name's Ashton and I'm a _fucking_ vampire." Then, without another word, he shot out of the room with Stiles, leaving only a thin scent of death.


	23. Stiles

With a scream still stuck in his throat, Stiles' eyes shot open and he struggled to breathe through the panic that gripped at his chest. The last thing he remembered was casting the horrific illusion on Derek and then turning it in on himself.

After blinking the moisture from his eyes, Stiles finally calmed his heart enough that he could see past the swirling lights in his vision. And that's when he had to fight the real fear from setting in.

Stiles had no idea where he was. Not only did he not recognize his surroundings visually, but the air was thick with the smell of death and it make him gag. He tried to sit up, tried to get his bearings, but snarled when he saw that his wrists and ankles were chained to a slab of stone that dug into his hip bones and shoulder blades. He stared up at a concrete ceiling that was not too high, so he could see the cracks and water stains crawling across the surface. A chill blew through the room and for the first time Stiles noticed that his shirt was missing.

Before the face came into his sights, Stiles could hear the slow but deliberate falling of heavy boots upon, what sounded like, grass and the squelching of mud. Then the heavy crunching of stone being rubbed across stone echoed through the room and Stiles winced, the sound making his skin crawl. When the sound finally stopped, the foot step continued until he felt a heavy presence in the room, staring at the side of his head.

"It's nice to see you're awake," a voice called, thick with a southern accent. Stiles inhaled, hoping to catch his scent, but the heavy scent of death and iron filled his lungs. 

"Where the hell am I?" Stiles croaked, his throat torn.

"Ah, can you not recognize a crypt when you see one? I'm disappointed, Mr. Stilinski," the voice continued. Stiles listened to the clinking of glass against glass and the man's face appeared above Stiles', his dark hair falling over his eyes.

"Who are you?" Stiles spat, trying to enforce a sense of strength but failing.

With a small smile, the man sighed, "My name is Ashton. And you're probably wondering why I've taken you away from those pathetic _wolves_ you call family."

Stiles could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him, replacing the fear. This stranger had no right to speak ill of his pack.

"It's simple, really. I want to use you. Well, what you're capable of, specifically," he explained. Stiles choked. He knew this would happen, one day. Just like how all of the past baddies had tried to use Scott for his power.

"And how the hell do you plan on doing that when I can't even use it myself," Stiles muttered, suddenly feeling _really_ tried. But he couldn't fall asleep. Wouldn't.

Chuckling, Ashton leaned against the stone that Stiles was tied to, his arms crossed over his chest and he looked down at the boy with... admiration? "That, dearest, is why you need me. I'm going to help you learn to control it. _Use_ the darkness that rages through you, begging for release."

"How?"

With a smirk, he pushed away from Stiles and came back a moment later with a syringe filled with silver liquid. 

"Where did you get that?" Stiles whispered, staring wide eyed at the concoction. The last time he saw something like that was at Deaton's clinic.

"A... more or less... willing Druid allowed me to come into possession of such a beautiful fluid," Ashton sighed, staring from the needle to Stiles' fearful eyes. "Don't worry, my _vixen_ , it shouldn't last too long." 

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. With a harsh stab, Ashton sent the needle deep into Stiles' neck, pushing down on the plunger until the fluid disappeared into his body.

"Let's have a little fun. Shall we?" He cackled, watching as Stiles' eyes rolled into the bad of his head and his screams echoed through the crypt.

***

_"It's nice to see you again, Stiles," a deep, gutural voice jabbed into Stiles' ears._ _When he opened his eyes, Stiles instantly knew where he was. He couldn't forget it, even if he wanted too._

_Stiles sat on a squeaking bed, its clone across from him and pressed against the tiled wall and the smell of sanitation with a tint of urine wafting into his nose. He stared at the small, metallic green door that was sure to be locked. Turning to his left, he looked out through a window and saw the full moon shining through the sky. The soft moon light cast eerie rays into the stifling room. Eichen House._

_Finally, Stiles stared ahead at the bed and felt bile rise in his throat at the man sitting across from him. His thick bomber jacket rustled with every movement of his bandaged arms, his hands tracing the edging of the faded gauze wrapped around his face._

_"Void," Stiles squeaked. He could feel the panic attack rising in his chest, but he fought it back down. "This isn't real. You're dead."_

_A disappointed clicking sound echoed through Stiles' ears and Void slowly shook his head. "As long as you're living, fox, so am I."_

_"No. This is a trick. A lie," Stiles heaved, his eyes watering._

_"Have I ever lied to you, Stiles," the voice growled to him. Suddenly, Void jumped to his feet and leaned down to Stiles' face, his fanged mouth sneering at the boy. With a bandaged thumb, he wiped at a tear that rolled down Stiles' cheek._

_Sighing, he pulled back but didn't sit. Void stared down at Stiles and finally smirked._

_"Do you want to play a game?"_

_Stiles' eyes widened and he shook his head violently._

_"No! Please, no," Stiles pleaded, jumping to his feet._

_"Tell me, Stiles," he growled, grabbing Stiles' jaw. "Do you know any riddles?"_

_Fear tore through Stiles and he felt something break inside of him._

_"NO!" Stiles roared. With eyes searing with evil, Stiles slammed a clawed hand into Void's chest threw him backwards into the small cot._

_Black blood spurted from Void's lips, staining his bandaged chin. Gurgling, he coughed, "The more you take-" Stiles growled and let his own terror and fury seep into Void and his eggshells for wraps turned crimson with blood. His whole body had erupted into bleeding holes._

_"Don't!" Stiles roared, his nose inches from Voids face._

_The blood flooded from his body, seeping into the mattress and dripping down onto the floor. Stiles watched as the puddles of death slid across the tile and flooded out under the door and into the hall._

_With another deep cough, Void pressed, "The more you leave behind." Stiles dug his claws deep into his chest until he felt ribs crush in his fingers._

_"What is-" Void started, but with a roar louder than anything Stiles had every released, he tore his free, clawed hand through his throat._

_Ribbons of blood flew up and sprayed Stiles' face, splattering the walls and window. Void fell silent, his body limp under Stiles'. Then, with a sickening snap and sigh through the room, the corpse turned to dust._

_"Footsteps," Stiles whispered, watching the ash fall through his fingers._

_Stiles crouched, frozen, on the cot. He stared down at the blood drenching his hands and slowly his gaze flickered through the room. Deep, rubescent blood flooded the floor, at least an inch deep and Stiles felt a numbing feeling spread through his limbs._

_Before he could stop himself, Stiles slid off of the cot and lay in the pool of blood. The smell of iron was thick in his throat and he could feel the warm liquid sticking to his hair and skin. Void was dead. He had slain his demons._

_Closing his eyes, Stiles fell unconscious, his body floating through the river of blood and death_


	24. Ashton

Ashton watched with a wicked fascination as the fox before him writhed and screamed. The serum he had stolen from the Druid was an ancient concoction that locked its victim inside of his mind, forcing him to face his biggest fears and destroy them. Ashton saw this as a perfect way to help the boy destroy what it was that was holding him back and then learn to control his abilities to the fullest extent. And of course, have a little fun along the way.

Unfortunately for the vampire, he could not see what it was the boy fought. But he could most definitely witness the outside effects and man was that quite the show.

Stiles pulled and strained against the cuffs, his muscles taught and burning. Ashton watched the beads of blood roll from the corners of his mouth, dribble out of his nose, and pool out of his eyes and ears. It must be quite the gruesome battle.

Ashton calmly ran his fingers through the fox's hair, listening to the gore the rage through his body. He would do anything to taste the sweet, powerful substance, but that was for a later date.

He knew the boy would question him, would want to know why he had taken him away. And the answer was simple. Balance.

Living as long a life as he has, Ashton saw the chaos and evil that raged through this town. It was thick in the air, polluted the water and ate at the children like wild beasts. And it all seemed to surround Stiles Stilinski. 

Ever since the boy was pulled down into the darkness he had worked so hard to stay afloat, the balance was thrown off. Ashton was a bloodthirsty, narcissistic vampire, yes, but he was anything but evil. He needed to maintain the balance. And that started with Stiles.

He had watched the wolf, the Hale boy, try to _fix_ Stiles by telling him how much he loved him and even going as far as to have sex with him, but that was just pathetic. This kind of darkness was ancient and powerful and couldn't be tamed by the power of _love_. It was child's play.

Ashton knew he needed to get to Stilinski, but he didn't know how. That is, until he met the lovely Lydia Martin.

Lydia was drawn to Stiles' darkness the way Derek was and it was obvious. Ashton knew he couldn't get to the wolf without losing his head, so he decided to confide in the banshee.

She was easy to compel, really. Almost willing. She told him everything he needed to know from how Stiles had died to why he struggled to accept his fox. And it all seemed to revolve around the Nogitsune, Void.

From his understanding, Void had possessed Stiles and used the boy to wreak havoc through Beacon Hills. Essentially, he killed thousands of people using Stiles' hands, including the alpha's mate. No wonder the kid had so much uncontrollable darkness raging through him. He spent too much time trying to contain the beast and not enough time trying to channel it and it was ready to explode.

A deafening roar pulling Ashton from his thoughts and he looked down to see Stiles' eyes wide open, flaring blue. Well, that's a good sign. As least they're not black.

"Stiles, look at me," Ashton demanding, grabbing a fistful of his hair and holding his head down against the stone. Stiles' eyes watered and his chest heaved. Ashton knew he was going to lose the boy to his panic if he didn't act fast.

"Stiles, you're fine. You killed him, he's gone. You're back here, with me," Ashton pressed, grabbing his jaw and forcing him look Ashton in the eyes. 

"No," Stiles squeaked, his voice weak. "He said-"

"Whatever he said was a lie," Ashton interjected, his tone sharp. It seemed to work because Stiles began to calm and his eyes resolved to their beautiful gold.

"What happened? What was that?' Stiles asked after a few moments of silence.

Ashton sighed and went on to explain to Stiles the purpose of the serum as well as his reasoning for helping Stiles to control his powers.

"How am I supposed to fix the balance?"

"Once you have full control of your abilities and the darkness inside of you has subsided to your hand, the balance will fix itself. Right now, you are out of control and the evil that hides inside of you is clawing to break out. It's a ticking time bomb and when it explodes, and it will, all hell will break loose," Ashton explained. Then, with a sigh, he unlocked the restraints around the boy's wrists and ankles.

"Ashton," Stiles started. "Why can't I smell you?" Ashton couldn't help but laugh.

"Tell me, boy. What _do_ you smell?" Stiles was quiet for a moment, his gaze glazing over bit as he inhaled and tried to focus on what he was smelling.

"Dirt, grass, mold, vermon. But mostly death and iron," Stiles muttered, still not focusing on Ashton's face. "But that's just the smell of a crypt."

Sighing, Ashton watched Stiles slowly sit up and swing his legs over the side of the stone. Ashton knew he would try to run the first chance he got, that he would want to escape to the wolves. But he had a solution for that. Ashton had a solution for everything.

"It's also the smell of a dead man walking," Ashton said, crossing his arms over his chest. He almost didn't want to tell Stiles he was a vampire, let him be surprised when Ashton sunk his teeth into his veins and tasted that sweet blood pumped full of power and pain.

With wide eyes, Stiles stared at Ashton and gaped, "You expect me to believe you're a _zombie_?"

"No! You idiot," Ashton snapped. He hated zombies and to be compared to one made his skin crawl. Sighing he rubbed his eyes and decided it'd be best to drop the bomb sooner rather than later. "I'm what one would refer to as a vampire."

Stiles' shock quickly changed to fascination and then confusion. "Vampires don't exist."

Ashton glared at the boy and yelled, "Are you kidding me?! You hang out with _fucking_ werewolves and you have the audacity to tell me _vampires_ don't exist? You're a _werefox_ for Christ's sake!"

Nodding his head, Stiles said, "Sorry. But-" He paused, almost debating whether he should say what he was thinking. Ashton wished he wouldn't. "-I thought you couldn't say the lord's name. Like, you'd burn from the inside out for something."

Growling, Ashton shook his head. "You're pathetic."

"So, tell me, batsy. When do I get to go home?" Stiles said, ignoring the insult. He'd remained sitting on the stone, surprisingly not a problem, but Ashton could see his eyes scanning the room for any exit points.

"When I say so."

"So I'm like, your prisoner."

"Something like that."

"You know Derek is going to find me, right?" Stiles' voice was strong and confident, but Ashton could sense the small seed of doubt. All he needed to do was water it and the fox would be his.

"And what's makes you think that?" Ashton challenged.

"He knows my scent. He'll find me."

"What makes you think he's even looking?"

Stiles hesitated, then shot back, "Of course he's looking for me. He loves me!"

"You know how I see it? You were a burden. You made him feel weak and out of control. He couldn't control you even if he wanted too. You're a wild card, Stilinski, and Derek would be relieved if you just, _disappeared_."

Stiles' eyes started to water and he jumped down from the stone, marching up to Ashton so he could count the boy's freckles.

"You listen to _me_ , buddy. Derek _will_ find me. And when he does, he will kill you. He will tear your throat out," Stiles snarled. Then, with a small smile, he added, "With his teeth."


	25. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo ma dudes! I'm so sorry for the wait! My internet was down yesterday so I was unable to post. I appreciate your patience and as both a thank you and an apology, I will be posting multiple chapters today. Beware! The end is near...

Derek paced through the clinic, chewing at his claws as he shot a deadly glare at Deaton. Scott leaned against one of the examination tables, his eyes lost in thought. Derek could sense the anger and fear radiating off of the teenager.

"Tell me, again, why I can't just go after Stiles right now?" Derek growled, not taking his eyes off of the Druid. Deaton watched Derek pace, his expression calm.

With a deep sigh, Deaton replied, "Because the vampire stole something of mine. If I'm right and he uses it on Stiles, the boy will be left vulnerable and he will be dangerous. We don't know what he plans on doing with the boy, but if an angry werewolf busts in on him, it could cause harm to Stiles."

"So you just want to sit here and twiddle your thumbs? Wait for Stiles to be delivered to you doorstep?" Derek argued, his anger crushing his logic.

"No."

"Then what the fuck, Deaton!" Derek roared, stopping his trek and pressing himself up to Deaton, daring the man to fight back. He would give anything to punch the Druid in the face.

After a long, tense silence of Derek growling menacingly and Deaton simply staring at the beast, Scott spoke up.

"We need a plan. Then we leave," Scott said calmly, his voice thick.

"But-" Deaton started but Derek snarled, silencing the man.

"The Alpha's right. We need a plan," Derek agreed, stepping back from Deaton who threw his hands up in surrender.

"I think we should call the pack. Maybe even Malia. We'll need all the help we can get," Scott said, looking up from the freshly washed metal. Ever since Eichen House and Scott learned about what had happened between Stiles and Malia, he did his best to avoid the coyote, never bringing her up around Stiles. The Nogitsune had fed from not only the madness of the nut house, but that of Stiles' inner turmoil. Making the boy lose his virginity to the werecoyote was a low that sent Stiles into a mentality that Scott would prefer not to revisit. But it was all hands on deck at this point.

"What should we tell them? What's the plan?" 

Scott looked at Derek, "We know Stiles' scent. We can find him easily. It's the extraction that'll prove difficult. Derek, you'll have to be the first and the last person Stiles sees. It'll calm him enough so he doesn't lose control during the madness."

"What about the vampire?" Deaton interjected for the first time, his eyes brows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

Derek turned to Deaton and smiled, "I'm going to rip his throat out." Then, to prove a point, he growled and his fangs shone menacingly at Deaton. "With my teeth."


	26. Stiles

Stiles' eyes opened, blurred, and the first thing he noticed was that he had been moved. He was no longer lying down on the stone, but he had his arms held above his head and his ankles held in place by a hot iron that burnt his skin. With a heavy sense of nausea, Stiles' head slumped forward and he stared down at the cobblestone, his body suspended in the air.

"Awe, don't you look pretty," Ashton's soft voice called to Stiles. A cool breeze sent chills through his body and Stiles noticed that he was missing his shirt and his pants.

"Ash-" Stiles muttered, his voice weak. He felt so sick and like he'd been beaten by a metal bat. His body ached.

"Shhh, my dear boy. Save your strength. Your body's trying to heal itself," Ashton soothed, his hand caressing Stiles' cheek.

"What happened?" Stiles croaked. The chains rattled as his legs gave out and he fell forward, his arms twisting in a way that made him grit his teeth.

"The inevitable. I'm a vampire, Stiles. I have needs. Just as you do," Ashton cooed, his fingers tips pressing lightly into the points in Stiles' body that felt the most soreness. 

"You-" Stiles heaved. "You bit me?"

"More or less. I fed from your vessel and now you're healing. You'll be good as new in plenty of time. Besides," Ashton smirked, grabbing Stiles' chin and forcing him to look at him. "You _really_ liked it."

"I did not," Stiles ground out, his strength slowly returning.

"Oh, yes you did. You were mewling, begging me for more," Ashton laughed, digging his nails into the fox's jaw.

"You're lying."

"Am I? Tell me, Stiles. Do you know _anything_ about the magic of a vampire's bite?"

"Shut up," Stiles snarled. He did, in fact, know all about the vampire's bite, but he refused to admit it. Refused to admit that he craved the man's teeth at the mere thought of what it would bring.

"Pure bliss, Stiles. The bite of a vampire is quite fascinating. It's no wonder seduction is often associated with the bite. Sure, it hurts like a bitch at first. But once I have the juices flowing, the venom swirling through your veins while I feed from your gorgeous body- Oh, Stiles. There's no feeling like it. Frankly, it's better than sex," Ashton groaned. As he spoke, he ran his fingers down Stiles' abdomen and marveled at the marks covering his body.

"Don't touch me," Stiles roared, pulling back from Ashton and snarling a mouthful of fangs.

"These won't heal," Ashton whispered absently, pressing against the gash on the boy's hip bone. 

"How? Of course they'll heal," Stiles argued, a sense of dread filling his chest. What if Derek found him like this? What would he think?

Shaking his head, Ashton sighed, "Nope. Sure, the bleeding with stop and the redness with fade, but they will litter your body, never withering away. The scars will remind you every day of our time together. Your _pet_ will see them every time he tears off your shirt and he will flinch."

"Why are you doing this? I thought you were going to help me?" Stiles pleaded, his voice thick with unshed tears. He felt dirty and broken. The euphoric darkness was better than this.

"Oh, I already did that. You're all fixed up," Ashton chipped, slapping Stiles' bicep before stepping back and sweeping a pile of dust from the stone Stiles had previous been laid.

"What are you talking about?"

"The weird stuff I injected you with? Yeah, that forced you to destroy what it was that kept you from embracing your abilities. So, now you're free. Free to light the world on fire, if you so desire."

"Really? Then why haven't you let me go?"

"Ha, you think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart? Sure, the balance is important and it's my job to fix it, but hun. I am a monster, same as you."

"So, I'm free of the darkness? The balance is restored," Stiles inquired, cocking his head to the side. Then, with a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

"Don't even try it," Ashton laughed. Snapping his eyes open, Stiles stared at the vampire with pools of ink and blood slid down his arms from his palms where his claws dug. "It won't work. You're too weak."

Stiles roared, feeling his powers slashing and crawling through his body, begging to be let out. The pure evil of what lay inside of him felt different, now. It wasn't its own mass, anymore. He didn't feel overpowered or like he was drowning in it. He felt like he was controlling the darkness. And it felt good.

But Ashton was right. Stiles focused on the cuffs around his wrists, the vivid image of them snapping open clear in his mind. But when the surge of power prepared for release, something broke and Stiles was left heaving and gasping for breath.

Shaking his head, Ashton sighed, "I told you. You need to save your strength. A for effort, though."

Stiles hated the man. No. Not man. Monster. He had taken Stiles from his home, from Derek. He tricked him into believing he could be trusted. And that hatred shot through Stiles body like a wild fire, making his limbs shake and his eyes bleed as he let lose a roar that could be heard around the world.

Ashton's eyes widened and he shot to Stiles' side faster than he could blink. Before Stiles could muster enough energy to cause any harm to the vampire, Ashton sunk his teeth into the soft skin where Stiles' shoulder met his neck.

Stiles screamed in pain at first, but then the strangely familiar sensation of blood being sucked from his body spread through his limbs and his head lolled to the side, then he felt himself release a breath he had been holding. His limbs relaxed and he realized that Ashton was right. It was the sweetest thing he had ever felt in his entire life and for a moment, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he was addicted to the vampire's bite.


	27. Derek

A deafening roar rumbled through the earth, shaking Derek to the bone. He knew that cry, knew it was Stiles and he could hear the rage lacing the powerful force. Deaton was right. That vampire was messing with Stiles and it made the fox dangerous. Even to himself.

"Derek, did you-" Scott started. With a curt nod, Derek took a sharp turn and sped through a red light.

Lydia sat in the back seat of Derek's car, unusually quiet, while Isaac and Liam were squeezed on either side of her. Malia had denied the hunt, saying that she didn't feel it would be good for Stiles to see her face. Scott had promptly agreed and Derek was tempted to ask, but set it aside for another time. Kira sat in Scott's lap, obviously highly uncomfortable. Derek could smell the teen's attraction and embarrassment, her cheeks bright pink and she kept her eyes strained on the road. It reminded Derek of Stiles. Stiles.

"Derek-" Isaac spoke up. He had rolled down his window so he could catch Stiles' scent to when he spoke up, Derek's heart leapt into his throat and he nodded, pushing Isaac on. "Turn here."

Derek did as he was told and found himself at the cemetery. Parking the car, the pack clambered out of the car and Derek took a deep breath, looking up at the star filled sky. The moon was hidden behind the clouds and Derek's eyes snapped forward when he caught the strong scent.

"Follow me," Derek growled, leading the pack to a run down crypt. On the outside, a name was engraved into the stone along with a date. "Ashton Bennet, 1066-1085."

"Scott," Lydia spoke up, grabbing the alpha's elbow. "What are we doing?"

"Me, Isaac, and Kira are going to go in first and take down the vampire. Then Derek is going to find Stiles and bring him back here, where you and Liam will wait. Once you've got Stiles, I want you to run to the car and get him inside. Don't wait for me or the others. You go straight to Derek's loft," Scott whispered, his anxiety rising by the second. What if Stiles was already dead?

"Scott," Derek growled, growing impatient. With a jerk of his head, Scott nodded and waved for Kira and Isaac to follow.

They stood at the iron gate that blocked the gaping entrance into the crypt. Derek waited a step behind the other three, his muscles tight and ready for anything. He could smell Stiles, hear his breathing, feel his heart beat with his own. But there was something off. Stiles smelled calm and almost, happy? But, that's not possible.

"Go," Scott growled. Isaac and Scott shifted while Kira pulled out her katana and they pulled open the gate, Derek following behind.

***

"Scott! Watch out!" Isaac roared as Scott ducked. The vampire had pulled out a blade and was slashing at the wolves. When it had merely cut Isaac, his skin turned black and he howled in pain. Wolfbane.

Derek hid in the shadows, watching the battle and trying to catch a glimpse of Stiles. He knew he was in the same room, could smell him. But he couldn't see him.

Kira slashed her katana at the vampire, slicing his hand until the blade fell to the floor. Scott then grabbed his neck and lifted him in the air and slammed him down onto what looked like a long box made solely from stone. Now that Derek noticed the box, a sinking feeling hit his stomach and he could feel his wolf howling inside of him. Stiles was inside the fucking casket.

With a scream, Derek watched as Kira sent his sword into the vampire's chest. His eyes widened painfully and blood spurted from his ribs. Derek watched the life, or lack thereof, drain from his eyes.

Derek ran from his spot against the wall and shoved the vampire to the floor. With a desperation he had never felt before, he tore the stone away and tossed it across the room. What he saw broke his heart.

Stiles lay quivering inside of the casket, his eyes closed. His body was covered in blood and Derek was shocked to see individual bite marks covering the skin. The fucker had _fed_ from Stiles?!

"Stiles," Derek called, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and pulling his limp body out of the box.

The moment Stiles' heels hit the floor, his eyes snapped open and his breath hitched. He clutched at Derek's shirt and stared desperately into his eyes. Derek slowly kneeled down to the rough cobblestone, Stiles in his arms, and stared into the glowing blue eyes.

"Derek," Stiles choked, a tear rolling down his face. "Is it really you?"

Derek smiled, a real smile. Relief flooded his body and he nodded desperately, running his fingers through Stiles' hair. "Yes, it's really me."

"He fixed me," Stiles muttered, his face suddenly fallen. "He fixed me, Der. I'm finally in control."

Stiffling a growl, Derek forced, "That's good. That's really good."

"Derek," Scott's voice interjected. "We need to get out of here. Get him to the loft."

Just as the words left his mouth, Scott was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. The vampire glared down at the alpha, his eyes glowing crimson. He hissed at Derek, flashing his fangs, and ran over to him. 

Derek tried to fight, but Stiles' body currently held up his hands and he didn't respond fast enough. The vampire grabbed Derek's shoulders and pulled him to his feet before slamming him into a wall.

Sensing Stiles rising fear and anger, Derek heard Stiles grunt as he stood to his feet.  Before he could say anything, the vampire sunk his teeth against Derek's throat. The pain shot through his body and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. He tried desperately to push the monster away from him, but he hung onto the wolf with his teeth digging into his neck.

Derek could feel the warm blood falling down his chest and he heard Kira and Isaac screaming, but the vampire didn't budge as they tore at his body. But they didn't dare pull him away, knowing he would take Derek's throat with him. It was too much. The pain, the madness. Derek was about to pass out.

But then, in the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles. Stiles stood, staring at the vampire and Derek with a look so dark, so evil it made Derek shiver. Black veins littered Stiles' entire body, crawling over his bare chest, his face, his arms and legs. The only thing on Stiles' body was his underwear and even that was black. Derek watched as Stiles fed from the mere atmosphere and grew stronger with every passing second.

"Ashton!" Stiles roared, his voice grumbling through the room with a ferocity that was sure to sent the stone crumbling. "Let him go!"

When the vampire, Ashton, didn't move and only responded by taking a deep suck from Derek's neck, Stiles smiled. A feeling of euphoria shot through Derek's body and for a second, he didn't want Ashton to move. 

A deafening scream erupted from the vampire and he released Derek, stumbling backwards. Gasping desperately, Derek fell to his knees and watched the vampire writhe and curse, falling to the stone and clawing at his face.

Stiles stared hard at the vampire, his hands steady and his eyes slightly glazed over. He had a wicked smile on his face and Derek stared at Ashton, his skin quickly turning red then ashened black and his whole body burst into flames. Stiles had burnt the fucker from the inside out.

The heat was suffocating and the smell of the burning flesh made Derek gag. He could feel his own skin healing until all that was left was the warm blood, but he was still weak. He tried to stand to his feet but fell forward onto his hands and knees.

He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his shoulders and looked up to see Stiles, his eyes flaring blue. He lifted Derek from the ground and dragged him out of the crypt with Scott, Isaac, and Kira following behind. Then, Derek watched as Stiles' eyes sunk into darkness again and a large explosion erupted behind him, shards of flaming stone burning his back.

"Stiles!" Lydia screamed, running across the field from where she stood by the car. Derek sensed the stiffening of Stiles' muscles, but when the boy smiled and let Lydia kiss his cheek, he thought nothing of it.

"Help me get him in the car," Stiles ordered. Scott pulled Derek away from the fox and slid him into the back seat.

Scott jumped into the driver's seat and Kira slid into the passenger side. Isaac and Liam crawled into the back with Derek and Stiles settled onto the floor at Derek's feet.

"Come on, let's get you guys home," Scott called.


	28. Derek and Stiles

Warm rays shone through the mildewed window, casting a soft light over Derek's sleeping form. Stiles leaned against the door frame of his bedroom, watching the wolf rest. He knew he was trying to sleep off the vampire's venom. Stiles knew that all too well.

A pair of small hands slid across his biceps, and Stiles felt Lydia's chin rest on his shoulder. She planted a small kiss on his cheek and he tried to hide the rising tension and discomfort he felt. Stiles knew she hadn't meant too, that she probably didn't even remember telling a complete stranger about his darkest past. But he couldn't help but feel hurt and slightly betrayed.

"Stiles," she whispered, her voice soft as to not wake Derek. "We should get you to Deaton. Let him do a thorough check up on you. We still don't know everything Ashton did to you."

"I do," Stiles answered simply. The memory of Ashton tearing into his skin, sucking him dry only to have his body betray him and heal itself. Stiles hated how much he loved it and sometimes, when he was left weak and empty, he would pray that for once, he wouldn't heal.

Lydia sighed, dropping her hands to his wrists. Gently but purposefully, Lydia pulled Stiles away from the door frame and sat him down on Derek's blood stained couch. A morning breeze wafted through the loft and Stiles could smell the sour grass and the fresh mud from the woods just outside.

"Listen, you've been through a lot. But, Stiles, you need to talk to someone. You can't keep it all inside," Lydia pressed. She plopped herself down next to Stiles, her fingers playing with his hair. The massage was calming and Stiles felt his walls falling a bit as his muscle relaxed.

"You don't want to know what he did to me," Stiles sighed, his eyes closed. He leaned back and rested his head against the back of the couch and imagined the scars that covered every inch of his skin, hidden beneath the layers of clothes he'd adamantly pulled over his body.

Lydia paused and Stiles could sense her rising panic and tried to imagine what she was thinking. Good. Let her imagine what she wishes. She deserves it.

Stiles scowled at himself. She was innocent. Lydia didn't know what she was doing. She wasn't to blame and didn't deserve his hostility.

"Yes I do," Lydia finally choked. "Because you're my friend, Stiles. I care about you. I want to help you."

"You can't help me," Stiles muttered, his body feeling heavy as sleep tried to claim him. He hadn't had a proper nights sleep for a week. A week? Was that really how long he was held? It felt like a day. Maybe two.

"That's not true," Lydia soothed, continuing the soft circles through his hair. She watched as Stiles relaxed, his breathing even and he looked so peaceful.

"I don't need it, Lydia. I don't need your help. I don't need Deaton's help. I'm fine, really," Stiles ensured. Lydia didn't believe a word he said, but that was okay. Stiles didn't need her to believe him. He needed her to drop the subject or leave.

With a curt nod, Lydia pulled her fingers from his hair and stood to her feet. Stiles' eyes peeled open and he watched as she walked away towards the door.

"I need to go. My mom needs my help cleaning out the lake house," she announced, a sense of sadness evident in her voice. A month ago, Stiles would've jumped to his feet and done anything he could to change that, to make the girl happy. But now, he just didn't care anymore. That vampire must've done a real number on him. Or maybe it something else. Something darker.

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Lydia turned and slid out the door, leaving Stiles alone. He tried not to listen to her choked sobs as she clambered into her car, tried not to imagine the tears streaking down her face as she attempted to fix her makeup before pulling away from the loft.

Stiles turned his body so his head rested on the armrest and his legs stretched out across to the other end of the couch. Subconsciously, he slid his hands under his shirt and glided his thumbs over the deep, soft tissue that tore across his abdomen. As the heavy blanket of sleep wrapped around him, Stiles felt himself fall into such a deep sleep, he didn't know if he'd ever wake up again.

***

Derek's eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet, adrenaline shooting through his body. The last thing he remembered was watching Stiles roast a vampire with his mind, then they drove to the loft, then Derek had clambered into bed without saying a word to anybody. Without saying a word to Stiles.

He had left Stiles alone in the loft without even checking to make sure the boy was okay. Without checking for injury, physical or otherwise. It had been just him and Stiles that'd stumbled into the building. Derek had ordered the rest of the pack to go home. He hadn't wanted to share Stiles with anyone. And then he had the audacity to leave him alone.

Checking the time, Derek saw that it was already noon. He had been sleeping for ten hours. Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a new shirt, Derek shuffled towards his closed door. Which was strange, because Derek never closed the door. But a particular fox always closed the door, much to Derek's despair.

Tearing it open, Derek marched into the main of the loft and the first thing he saw was Stiles, sleeping on the couch. That fucktard fell asleep on the couch? When he couldn't climbed into the bed with Derek? Idiot.

Derek kneeled down next to Stiles' sleeping body, gliding his knuckles over his soft cheeks. He saw that Stiles was adorned in Derek's clothing, which was, frankly, a bit too big for the lean boy. But, despite the new clothes, Derek saw the blood stains creeping out from the collar of the shirt. Curiosity was a bitch.

Gently, as to avoid waking Stiles, Derek grabbed the edge of the collar and pulled it down, just a bit, to inspect the bloodied skin. What Derek hadn't been expecting to see was a deep gash in the fox's skin, covered by thin scar tissue. What the hell? Weres don't scar. It should've healed flawlessly.

Panic seeped into Derek's bones as he tried to process what had happened. Then, he reached up and grabbed at his own neck. His fingers dipped into the deep scars around his throat. The vampire's bite doesn't heal on werewolves.

"Stiles," Derek barked, patting his face. "I need you to wake up."

With a groan, Stiles peeked up at Derek and glared, rolling onto his side so his back is to the wolf.

"Leave me alone," Stiles muttered. "I'm tired."

"No! Get up," Derek barked, grabbing Stiles' shoulders and forcing him to sit up.

"Der," Stiles whined, his eyes heavy with sleep. His hair was disheveled and Derek could smell Lydia all over Stiles, but he bit back his jealousy.

"Take off your shirt," Derek ordered. Stiles eyes widened and the grogginess disappeared. Then, with a smirk, Stiles laughed.

"Desperate much, Der?" Stiles teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Scowling, Derek grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to pull it up, but Stiles stopped him.

"Don't," Stiles snapped, the playfulness gone. He stared at Derek, a mixture of fear and desperation evident in his eyes.

"Stiles, I need to see," Derek soothed, the orders gone. He knew if he was going to get through to Stiles, he had to be calm and gentle.

"I don't want you too," Stiles choked, tears welling up in his eyes. Derek could sense the shame seeping through the fox's pores and it felt like a punch to the gut.

"Do you trust me?" Derek asked, cupping Stiles' jaw in his palms. There was a long silence as Stiles tried to mull over what Derek had just asked.

With a small nod, Stiles grabbed at the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it off over his head. Derek felt his throat close and he forced down the despair that tore through his soul. Stiles, his Stiles, had been mutilated beyond belief. He had been used as a blood bag and it showed. Dear lord, did it show.

Derek stared, silently, at the scars that covered almost every inch of Stiles body. They started at his jaw line and crawled down to his hip bone.

"Is there more?" Derek forced through the cotton ball lodged in his throat.

Stiles nodded his head and took a shaky breath. "My legs."

Taking a deep breath, Derek stood to his feet and pulled Stiles with him. He pressed his nose into the boy's neck and inhaled, smelling the vampire in his skin. The thick iron made Derek want to gag.

"You're okay," Derek said. When he finally broke, there was a deep rooted rawness dripping with his sobs as his wounds tore open with a furosity that left Stiles clinging to Derek. With shaking hands, he tore at his head and Derek had to tighten his grip to keep the broken boy from falling to his feet. Salty tears soaked into his shirt and Derek rubbed his calloused hand over Stiles' scarred back. "You're okay."


	29. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These events take place a month after Stiles' rescue from Ashton.

The heat was stifling and bugs attacked Stiles mercilessly. He sat on the bench and watched Scott clobber a guy named Garret. He was new but damn was he good. The field was littered with players, all gasping for air and drowning in their own sweat. Coach. Finstock looked like he was about to lose his mind, screaming at Greenberg until even Stiles began to despise the kid.

Stiles took a long swig from his water bottle as Scott sent Garret to his face in the dirt. With a grunt, Scott pushed himself away from the boy and shot Stiles a wink. Shooting two thumbs into the air, Stiles smiled and cheered for Scott. This got Coach's attention.

"Stilinski! Get your ungrateful ass on the field!"

"Yes Coach!" Stiles shot back, a feeling of excitement making his limbs giddy.

As Stiles was running up to the team, the group split into two and lined up at the nets. Stiles knew what was coming and he groaned. He hated shooting practice.

"Greenberg! You first!" Coach barked, forcing the poor kid to the front. Stiles wedged in behind Greenberg and couldn't help but snarl when he felt Garret's stick stab into his ribs.

"Agh! Sorry Stiles," the kid laughed, his lie ringing in Stiles' ears. Luckily for him, Stiles had learned a great deal of control. Not that it mattered.

Greenberg shot and the ball pracitcally floated into the goalies net, a look of shock evident on his face. Greenberg just shook his head and took the inevitable insults from Coach.

"Greenberg! Get your head out of your ass! Damnit."

As the kid passed Stiles, he reached out a hand and patted his shoulder. "Good try, man."

"Whatever," Greenberg shot back.

Shrugging, Stiles got up to shoot. Scott, standing in the other line, stepped up as well and smiled at Stiles with a curt nod. Both boys darted forward, Stiles with his stick ready and Scott raring back. With a satisfying swoosh, Scott shot the ball to Stiles. The ball seemed to slow down mid air, merely floating to Stiles. With a smirk, he scooped the ball into his net and turned with a speed that made Coach curse from across the field.

Tensing his muscles, Stiles rared his net back and then let the ball loose, sending it snapping into the goal. With a small cheer, Scott ran to his friend and they slammed into each other, both laughing historically.

Turning to walk to the end of the line, Garret looked up at Stiles and smirked. "Hey Stilinski! You and Scott, huh? Cute."

"Hey Garret!" Stiles yelled. Then, stepping so close Stiles could see the individual beads of sweat running down the boy's cheeks, Stiles laughed, "Shut up."

Shaking his head, Garret stepped up to shoot. His partner, good old Danny boy, ran forward and shot the ball to Garret. Catching the pass, Garret turned to shoot, but just as he was raring back, his net tipped to far to the side and the ball fell to the grass.

Nobody noticed Stiles' black eyes, or the way the air around him became static. Nobody noticed the evil gleam in his eyes or the way his gaze shifted to the edge of the field where a man stood with his hands digging deep into his pockets. And definitely, nobody noticed the madness disintegrate to reveal a look so soft and loving it should not belong to the dark likes of Stiles Stilinski.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh My God! This is the end! Thank you guys sooo much for all of your support and love. This is my first fic ever and I really appreciate your commentary. That's what has kept me going. Make sure to leave your final thoughts on the work as a whole, it'll really help me with any and all future projects. If you have any requests or suggestions concerning future products you'd like to see, let me know and I will be sure to check it out and if I do choose to go off of your request, I will definitely mention you in my work. Again, thank you so much and I really hope you loved it as much as I did!


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